vignette by Fred Leeds
There was once a cool musician named Siddhartha, who found a theme that was like a whole new tune, so beautiful that he could hardly bear it. It rang through every hill and dale; it resounded in every other rift and movement; the harmony was everywhere. Nearly hidden by the world’s shout, it echoed still in every passing sound. It was just a matter of sounding the beauty that the world forgot, remembering the audience in your own first note.
This was Siddhartha’s new discovery, which was really as old as it was new. Couldn’t they see? Hadn’t they heard? It came from no other instrument, it held no composer.
Hadn’t they heard?
They heard, all things had heard: His discovery, his thought was the woven embrace of all things. They themselves were the harmony and deeper tune.
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