Passacaglia – piano and bamboo flute duet | Flute improvisation by Lin Hsiao-Feng (林小枫) | Original composition by Handel / Halvorsen
"Human life is unique, and the reason we cannot determine which of our decisions are good and which bad is that in a given situation we can make only one decision; we are not granted a second, third, or fourth life in which to compare various decisions. But a person’s life is like a musical composition. Guided by his sense of beauty, an individual transforms a fortuitous occurrence into a motif, which then takes its place in the symphony of his life." — Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1984)
The weight of the uncertainty had begun to show, even in the day. "You don’t know what will happen ‘til it happens, and who’s to say what is right or wrong? Stop worrying. Play me that latest piece you’ve been working on again," a friend said, as he casually picked up his flute and played a tune he had just thought of. Free-spirited, talented, and good-natured, he never seemed to need a score for his music nor a roadmap for his life choices.
The traveler longs, wistfully, for a score to follow through this transition. Yet knows none exists. And knows also that the friend is right. No amount of thinking will provide a blueprint for the future, and there is no correct version of a life. No "what-ifs." Only the one being lived right now; and within it, much to be treasured and grateful for.
"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." — Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love (c.1395)
The traveler’s gaze shifts to the corner, where the half-packed luggage sits in the shadows. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, there will be time to reach out to the friends in this city to arrange for a final catch-up. To give proper thanks for the kindness they have shown and to bid a fond adieu. Tomorrow, the messages will also go out to the familiar names back home to say the return is real. A slight stir of excitement rises at the thought of seeing them again. For despite not quite admitting it, the traveler has actually missed them over the years.
The city lights beyond the glass blur into a gradient of amber and violet as the eyelids grow heavy. 3am. The soft music seems to pulse within the traveler as fatigue takes hold. Memories of faces and moments, highs and lows, across the years and cities, all start to melt together. A final thought lingers as the traveler drifts into sleep: a tiny hope that, somehow, all will turn out well…
From the Nocturnal Notes: Away...Elsewhere... series by Jacquie T.
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