I will try not to write about my experiences putting together a personal studio. Though, today I had the first of what I would consider a success: I made a drum loop that I liked working with and listening to. I played it for Raquel, she liked it also. There is still so much to learn, or relearn. I have to remind myself often that the best things I ever did in the studio were not the result of the times I worked the hardest, but rather the opposite. You can only learn so much, eventually you must do the thing you're trying to do. Nothing more, try to have fun doing it.
I will try not to write any more about it. It is all that is on my mind, though, because I don't quite understand why I'm doing it all. After many years an interest rekindled. Life is odd, death is certain.
The boy and I decided not to go to Tahoe, which was for the best. They have closed down several resorts there avalanche warnings, too much snow, temperatures above freezing in the daytime, then more snow. It is a bad combination in sequence.
We arrive next Thursday night, and it will be snowing even more between now and then. I don't know how to think or what to feel about the risks. This new fear is all a mystery. I will face it stupidly, with the bliss of ignorance. I don't want to die but I do like to snowboard. Maybe I won't have to choose. Life is jawed, death is curtains.
Where the needle goes the thread follows; artha, kama, dharma, moksha. The natural way to live, the continuing entanglement of the passions. Live the Upanishads, death's a burden. Where the needle goes.
You become what you believe, when there is time.
I set my heart on the work, but seek rewards.
The clear path to a lesser goal has becomes the obstacle.
Nothing is written.
Nothing is riven.
.
