A bird doesn’t choose which notes to sing.
An ocean doesn’t know how loudly it roars.
Why, then, do humans try so hard
When this is music at its core?
We want to be masters
We want to be great
But the path we take
Is full of fruitless study,
Endless hate.
Yet we are just like the roaring ocean,
And the birds that sing.
How can you say music is hard,
When you marvel at such simple things?
God is the one who composed it all--
The great creator of the earth.
He is the master of the big and the small,
And only in Him do we find our true worth.
God is with us all the time,
I am his and He is mine.
Each breath I take is the divine,
And when I play, His light can shine.
Music is to connect with God above,
It tells the story of His love.
If we believe that we are Heaven-sent
Then God himself will play our instruments.
God is within us, in charge of it all
But we have the tendency to fall.
Obsessed with ourselves, we build up walls:
We tighten our muscles,
Rile up our brains.
This leads to frustration,
It leads to more pain.
Yoga can help me to relax,
But my posture changes when I pick up my axe.
I need to keep it cool and free
Because playing trumpet is not about me.
If you want your music to resound,
Let your feet sink into the ground,
Don’t feel like you need to pound,
Relax into the self you’ve found,
The music you want is all around.
You must fall in love with your own sound.
Wasting minutes, wasting days,
Locked away in a practice room,
Trying to force what should come with grace,
Letting frustrations descend into gloom.
So in your practice, take it slow.
Immerse yourself in every measure.
Don’t relent until it flows,
And every hour will be treasured.
Just breathe.
But what if I suck?
Just breathe.
I think I’ve run out of luck.
Just breathe.
I sounded so bad before…
Just Relax!
With thinking like that, you have everything to lose.
You can play from whichever space you choose.
The music will move you,
If you choose to stand still.
Your music will lift you,
If you trust that it will.
Don’t run from your talent,
Don’t put it up on the shelf.
Your music will love you,
If you choose to love yourself.
Kenny Werner’s voice speaks in my ear,
And helps put my tired room-mate to sleep.
His words are nice and his imagery rich,
But I thought that he was kind of a creep.
How is one to meditate and relax,
Sinking deeply into her own simple space,
When there’s a stranger babbling into her ear?
That endeavor seemed like such a waste.
But now, equipped with the sound of his voice,
I can use his concepts, but without the CD.
I can choose to have his words in my brain,
But my meditations are guided by me.
These concepts are easy to say to myself,
And endlessly important in my playing,
But when I chant these mantras
And then go from week to week,
Am I really living up to what I’m saying?
Slipping.
I feel my time slipping away.
I’m losing my grip on all that I had.
Daunted.
I watch my practice hours dwindle,
Try to send them in without feeling bad.
Dripping.
Music drips out of my horn, falls on the floor,
Unexcited by the effort with which I’m striving.
I want so badly for my sound to soar,
It hangs in the air and I see it dying.
I need to relax, I need to breathe.
My journey here is just beginning.
I’m moving faster than I realize,
But it won’t help if my head keeps spinning.
These things can’t be fixed in hours or weeks,
I remind myself with the passing days
The time that I do spend
Does quite well to mend
The bad habits built up from the old ways.
I can begin to fix the little things.
One measure mastered is better than ten etudes worked up.
I slowly put more time on the clock.
Deliberation is my weapon
And the UNI trumpet studio is my flock.
We help each other. We know the curse
Of trying so hard to measure up.
Without my friends, this book would be good,
But it never would be good enough.
Now.
Armed with my mantras,
Surrounded by friends,
I embark on the adventure of trial and romance.
The music is in me.
It’s placed there by God.
My only job
Is just to dance.
