Music feels like my other half. I hear that perfect chord or that tempting guitar riff and my body starts disappearing in itself. It's an involuntary action, mind you. And once upon a time, I would resist it. Eventually, I gave in. It was the good kind of pain that made you feel closer to the source; when it was gone, you couldn't keep yourself going. That was the kind of attachment it demanded, sometimes even without the lyrics.
You'd find yourself in the temple bells from Dharamsala in a CD someone gifted you or to the Sanskrit chants dispersed between an Advaita song; you'd travel from a French cafe into Woodstock in one transition. Music often displaces you; but only from one home to another. After that familiar tune fills the air, you nothing more. Life, as you know it, is how it should have always been.
You'd find yourself in the temple bells from Dharamsala in a CD someone gifted you or to the Sanskrit chants dispersed between an Advaita song; you'd travel from a French cafe into Woodstock in one transition. Music often displaces you; but only from one home to another. After that familiar tune fills the air, you nothing more. Life, as you know it, is how it should have always been.
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