A Beautiful Symphony

Music is the gateway into our past, it is the element of our present, and it is the promise of our future.

I have come to know something I don't know that I have had in a long time. A fraction of my life that I completely looked past, a note within a symphony so overpowered it was lost in the orchestra of different tunes. It is a beautiful symphony though, this symphony of my life. Who knew that one note could change the entire arrangement, the entire sound, the entire impact.

Much like a band of instruments, a song strings together notes. Notes, or brief pitches of noise, some heightened, some deep, some lengthened, and some just around long enough to say they were there for the show. Our songbook is drawn from a string of realities which we create within our own minds. Chapters where our songs sing of happiness, some where they sing of sorrow, some where they are just enough sound to give life to a blank page.

My symphony has formed a good book, its like reading without seeing. It's a replica of my trials, my success' and my small moments of clarity. Heard only by my ears, the music plays over and over, page by page I recognize the instruments, the individuality of every beating drum, of every piano key stroke, of every violin glide, of every breath in and out of the flutes and trumpets that are blaring reminiscence of pride. 

Every once in a while my ears catch it though, That faint clap, that beautiful climax, the sound I long to hear in every page, so silent in the past, but so overpowering now. Its the sound of hope. The thing about this unique sound, is that it can be in the form of whatever instrument you choose. It can be heard by as many ears as you wish, it can be subtle in the background, or it can be the main event. 

The point is, we are the conductors of our own orchestra. Gliding our hands with the changing times, the transition of seasons, the reminders, and the memories. And with the flick of our wrist, we have the power to change it all. The voice that each sound carries louder than the time before, that hope the loudest of them all.

Hope once heard from our basement corners, now fill the halls of our own personal Carnegie, A sound so familiar and so comforting, the world wonders why we kept it hidden for so long.
We replay the noise in our head.

These strokes, which create noise, placed in sequence as notes, as moments on parchment of music teach us how to love. They teach us how to keep memories alive. They teach us how to hope.

But, perhaps most of all, they teach us that we can never learn if we don't listen.