Tuesday, August 17, 2010


There are days when I pick the guitar and nothing clicks. It is so bad I wonder how I ever convinced myself I could play the darn thing... The strings feel \taught restrained against the neck, unresponsive to my aching fingertips’ attempt to press them to the fingerboard. When the other hand attempts to pluck the strings they feel frozen stiff, the pick feels stiff in my figures as it attacks the strings at a rough angle, the rhythm that ensues sounds clipped and erratic, forced upon the melody. The few chords I know are a lame, of-key sounding excuse for the melody, resulting in a frustrating jumble that exactly like any other half-heated song I’ve ever tried.

Then there are days...
There are days when the guitar fits snug against my body. The strings so responsive, I can actually hear each note of the chord individually, resonating on different register, filling the room. Both hands are moving in sync, guided by the flow, wrists free of restraint or apprehension. I can "hear" the music vibrating inside of the sound hole; instead of aggressively projecting the sound, it seeps towards me, like a steady warmth spreading from the guitar’s body into mine, thorough my thigh, upper arm, and chest upon which the guitar rests. When the music reaches my ears it is has already passed through my brain; it is already comprehensible. (Unlike on previous days when my brain is trying to make sense of the sounds being forced upon my ears from the outside.)

It is on such days when I can pray...

הכן לקראת אלוהיך ישראל....


At 10/24/2010 5:00 PM , Blogger Benny said...

Absolutely beautiful Baruch.

Well written. Well expressed and I can relate to everything you're saying.



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