The power of music to inspire is unmatched. Perhaps its potency is equaled by the beauty of the earth: a purple sunset, the Grand Canyon, Mt. Waialeale, a school of dolphins, or hummingbirds at rest in mid-air. But then, these are the things which inspire the creation of music. The reason music exists is because of these beauties, because of the human experience and interpretation of it. Music also exists because of unpretty experiences of life, serving as a lifeboat to rescue the psyche from drowning in our selfish id's center of the universe worldview; so irrational, I sometimes wonder how I could have once really believed I was that important.
Last night, from the depth of thousands of miles and decades of life, solos on mandolin resounded from the inner poetry of Peter Ostroushko. To gush would dishonor him, and his music, and give that id thing way too much attention. Not his, but mine.
Sometimes it is enough to just know something inspired happened. Beyond words and explanations, life solos are unique to each one of us. Sing it to the world or cradle it within; we are all related by the touching.
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