May-be I see my eyes swimming in possibility and reflecting my own happiness.
May-be is how I am.
So I imagine… There are parties and festivals of divine beings where the sweet smell of the suddenly sufficient strolls out the door as stars speeding past collide with the muted sound of rain beating down against the windshield. Could the songs of guitars along my life’s journey ever strum so full a reality? During the first moments of making new music, when a guitar string–fingered in anticipation of something brilliantly new–plays Dylan or Cash or old gospel or scratchy blues, in one way its a novel failure yet perversely satisfying.
Will the following pages ever approach the encompassing nature of the suddenly sufficient?
Of course not… but all experiment and rehearsal are worth the practice.
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