2004-07-07
My soul's obsession
I develop obsessions with different things. This time, it is Andrea Bocelli, and I pace back and forth as a mosaic of phrases pass through my head, trying to figure out how to describe the way in which his sonorous voice makes me feel. I want to create something--through my writing--that gives justice to the beauty of all of these opera songs. All of this--my songs, my books--meticulously begin to mould my thoughts and my feelings.
I couldn�t describe how I feel right now as I look outside of my window on this afternoon and see so many overlapping shades of grey lingering like fog. The emotions that fly out of my heart become trapped in the thick and distilled air that hangs softly about the trees. I look at paintings, and read other authors, and listen to violinists and pianists as they tell me their innermost secrets through the dancing of their fingers on those keys or strings.
Like Chopin�s �Raindrops� piece, some things are so exquisite because they sound, look, and feel so fragile. My soul and my heart feel like the thin silk-like strings that make up a cobweb, and--covered in the soft and fresh morning dew--they glitter with a kiss of the gentle sunrise. I could simply burst with all of this emotion, and I feel like sobbing--just because--my heart pulses in a sea of blazing colours--perfection.
Why do I cry for four minutes and eleven seconds of opera bliss? Because it is in those four minutes and eleven seconds, and with that particular song that I see my entire life pass me by. I stand there--dumbfounded--as if lost in this beach blanketed with pearl stars that burn above my head. I cannot count one, I cannot catch one thought, I cannot articulate one feeling. I only stand there in awe as the weight of my entire trembling body is put on my knees, and I fall. Kneeling and gripping the dampened champagne-coloured sand, I begin to formulate a story in my mind.
These moments--sunrise, sunset--are beginning and end, a perpetual cycle that haunts me, and I flow with it. I am a human being cursed with feeling too much, obsessing far too often, and filling up my mind with simple wonderment at the beauty of life.
Anyone who reads this, make the attempt at becoming obsessed with something you find beautiful...then, attempt to articulate how it is that those instances--that call on to create--make you feel.