Music swirls through time. In doing so it attaches itself to the events it parallels, often embellishing it with the col­orations that memories tint the past with.

 

But are the emotions that music illicit from memories? Or are they the events, the time and it's era, or incrementally accumulative of them all. Each providing it's own hue to the abstract events we retain as our individual selective history.

 

So does a song recall the event, or the event recall the song. Are the two necessarily individual? Are they mated into the fulfillment of the recollection or of it's chronology. It may not be simply an event as much as a time.

 

And what of the song ties it to such reminiscence? Was it the time it reigned simply concurrent with the memory? Did it actively participate in creating it's relational significance, or does it merely exist to reflect it.

 

And what of the emotions? Those feelings, that when searched for a cause (or stirred up), find only it's ref­erence to that song. Look at it - so just what does that song represent....

 

It's a memory. It's an emotion. It's a place. It's a time. They're all the same. They're inseparable. They are one.

 

Each exists as a part of the other, a part of the whole. The whole that you have become. And press further into what you will become. Shading your person with all the textured colors you placed into it. Dark or light. You choose.

 

You cannot change the itemized color. Once integrated, it's melded. Time may well soften it (or erase it) depending on how dearly you hold it. Reverie it. It's too precious to confuse it with what it is not.

 

It is not truly history. It is not truly the past.

 

It is a history as you retained it. It is a past as you recall it. It is your Love of what it represents. Music is the reference. It is the trigger, the result, the cause, the mirror.

 

Such a memory might be so old - you might be swept through a time, long ago, and it seems like another lifetime. And indeed it was. The earliest feelings of awakening, of self, of life, that shaped every emotion to follow. And finds it's roots in your very soul. These are the treasures... that music reflects. They reflect the music just as much as music reflects them.

 

A Love. A sadness. A longing. A gladness. A harmony of sorts.

 

The most stirring are all in one. Any single part beckons the others. They no longer exist individually. Hopefully you do not feel you exist individually. You do not. You cannot. You are part of me. I cannot be as such, without being part of you.

 

But the part of you that is me I know is not all you. It's a fragment. It's a piece. And it may not be at all what you are now. It may not even be what you were then. It's only what I held onto. And what I held onto was only what I saw, what I felt. It's still what I see. It's still what I feel. And it's no more real now that it was then. I saw what I wanted. I felt what I wanted. And neither may be any closer to reality now than I was then. It is my reality. Mine alone.

 

To question it's validity is unnecessary, and might well be lamentable. If some of those pieces that make up my heart are found then to be empty, there is nothing left to feed the love it had created.

 

So I see them for what they are. I feel them for what they do. I try not to question it. Just leave it alone. Celebrate it for the feeling of existence it provides. Stoke it as a compulsion to survive. And let the songs compel to revive. Life is such a colorful thing. So many reflected in you.