“She knew this music–knew it down to the very core of her being–but she had never heard it before. Unfamiliar, it had still always been there inside her, waiting to be woken. It grew from the core of mystery that gives a secret its special delight, religion its awe. It demanded to be accepted by simple faith, not dissected or questioned, and at the same time, it begged to be doubted and probed.”
― Charles de Lint
I’ve heard it said that there are people who march to the beat of their own drum. They tend to be people who can interact with crowds be in them but not of them because their own music drowns out the group rhythm. When I listen closely I can hear my music. I first heard it at a young age. It’s staccato rhythms didn’t seem to mix in well with the marching beat of the school system. I often felt like a badly tuned instrument. Still I liked my interior music more. It suited me and I spent nights improvising and rifting around it. As I’ve grown older, as I come across each new concept, I sound it out against the music I hear inside. Does it fit? Is it better, more vital somehow? At times even when the answer to both of those questions was no I still made a choice to follow the newer rhythm usually because of attractions like sex or money or some other form of life drug. I usually learned at some point thereafter that my own rhythm suited me better. I wouldn’t call those missteps mistakes. They gave me some of my more entertaining life stories yet still more often than not that inner tune leads me true and I have learned to rely on it.
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