Ohm.

I've had a couple of people now ask me if I'm in denial.

Could be.

I suppose it's all part of my 'ignore it and it will go away' survival mechanism.

denial ain't a river in egypt ...

I do know that when I've had enough for my mind to be tortured by, I shut it down.  I move into being busy with anything I can get my hands on.

It has to be my hands.  My mind is too active to be bullied into relaxing.

This is where music has always come in.

Some people can meditate, I can't.  Unless, of course, you consider the falling into those bewitching sound waves of music meditation.

This is my meditation.  This is where nothing goes into my mind except the game of perfect timing, or being physically swept away by the most chocolatey, smooth groove.

I consider the harmonics that are scattered in the air a celestial being.  They are my angels singing to me.  It's the only time I feel like there could possibly be a higher power.  It's the only time I am in a state where the world ceases to exist.

They're more than just notes.

Last night, I had a session with Lin Gardiner for BlueLight.  I did a couple of bass tracks for the last 2 songs of our full length CD.

While I was playing the 2nd song, I fell into the notes and slipped away into never never land.  I wanted this session to go on forever.  There was one point where the song was ending and my dear heart practically cried to me, "No!!!!  It can't be over!! Do it again! Do it again!"

I remember my nervous breakdown I had 7 years ago.  I was in such a messed up state that I was on the verge of suicide.

One day, I was playing my cello, and while I was reading the notes from the page and translating them into music on the strings, I stopped crying.  While I played, the pain floated away, being replaced by musical serenity.

But then I had to turn the page.

The music had to stop.

Tears began to fall once more.  They seemed to well up from my toes.  They shot through my muscles, veins and bones, until they found their entrance to the main stage.

I turned the page and resumed the music and the tears dried once more.  The salty enemy simply turned into droopy peaceful eyes.

I played on for hours, in an attempt to keep the sorrow behind me.

Meditation?

Maybe.

It sure felt so last night.  That is, of course, until I was asked, "So, how are you doing with everything that's coming up?"

As I put my bass away into it's nylon padded bag, I replied, "I'm not doing so hot.  But we'll just pretend I am, K?"

Denial.

Coping?