Without With

I ponder on the first word of a poem: With Life, Love. I cannot think of life without with.

I complete an orchestral piece with the same title together with my thoughts.

Listen to 'With Life: Love' at 100 Artworks

Silence

The vessel of our thought, full with voice, The absence of all that moves,
A sign of doubt, Without,
A stitch in time too still to touch, too slippery to climb.

The zero of my world, The start and end of all I know or knew,
With thought's unknown yet certain guest, With love, the open ended view.

As One With Many

I have spent four days refining a piece of music to feel right before I begin its end. I listened over and over to reach the moment I felt I might start well. I had ideas about what might come, but in the fullness of time I was utterly surprised. It was like diving from the world of air to sea.

To dive is to be the moment of flight, the touch of finger tip to liquid skin, the pierce of body from air to sea. To get things done, I feel, I am immersed, as one with many. I absorb, I am, utterly absorbed.