A Reflection on the Master's Piano Sonata No. 8 in C Minor Op. 13
BEETHOVEN'S Symphony No. 5 in C Minor Op. 67 is playing in my head. Alive! A movement so sure of itself (technically, there are four movements in the opus). How I wish I am that kind of music!
Well, I suspect that I am on the road to recovery. No. The wound's tender scar still hurts. But I do not know where this sense of tomorrow comes from albeit the pain I am enduring that shied my psyche from considering the possibility of a morrow.
I have been alienated from Ea or to say it more aptly, technologies have alienated me from Ea. And there are restless sleepless nights to contend with. Such are manifestations of fear and worries, and of failing to grasp the graces of those hypocritic days.
I am still sad like the Master's Moonlight Sonata (Piano Sonata No. 14). Yet I know that someday I shall celebrate Ea's company and we shall dance and run across the fields of lilies as if enchanted by the Master's Pastoral (Symphony No. 6). Then we shall be one once again, and in perfect union, we shall be enjoying the panorama of the valley of trees and the fields yonder, mesmerized by the glittering beads of diamonds on the wet grasses on a summer's morn. Playing like two innocent children in the Garden, we shall be holding each other's hands dancing and laughing out loud amid the flowers abloom. Up over us in the wide expanse of blue sky are birds singing and cheeping their kind of song.
As the sun sets, we will sit side by side each other watching the sun as it kisses the horizon in silence. We will be speechless as well to commune with this manifestation--for a long moment, sitting quietly, thinking of nothing, pondering the quietness. Just being in that momentous present, aware but not judgmental of each other's presence, contemplating and experiencing the beauty of being alive, of being present in that instant as the sun sets.
Filled with hope that a new day will dawn upon us, we shall embrace each other with certainty that we will make it together to the end of our time (be it that we experience its reality differently as in Lorentz transformation).
Such is my reflection (or if you prefer, daydreaming) of Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 8 in C Minor, Op. 13.
Well, I suspect that I am on the road to recovery. No. The wound's tender scar still hurts. But I do not know where this sense of tomorrow comes from albeit the pain I am enduring that shied my psyche from considering the possibility of a morrow.
I have been alienated from Ea or to say it more aptly, technologies have alienated me from Ea. And there are restless sleepless nights to contend with. Such are manifestations of fear and worries, and of failing to grasp the graces of those hypocritic days.
I am still sad like the Master's Moonlight Sonata (Piano Sonata No. 14). Yet I know that someday I shall celebrate Ea's company and we shall dance and run across the fields of lilies as if enchanted by the Master's Pastoral (Symphony No. 6). Then we shall be one once again, and in perfect union, we shall be enjoying the panorama of the valley of trees and the fields yonder, mesmerized by the glittering beads of diamonds on the wet grasses on a summer's morn. Playing like two innocent children in the Garden, we shall be holding each other's hands dancing and laughing out loud amid the flowers abloom. Up over us in the wide expanse of blue sky are birds singing and cheeping their kind of song.
As the sun sets, we will sit side by side each other watching the sun as it kisses the horizon in silence. We will be speechless as well to commune with this manifestation--for a long moment, sitting quietly, thinking of nothing, pondering the quietness. Just being in that momentous present, aware but not judgmental of each other's presence, contemplating and experiencing the beauty of being alive, of being present in that instant as the sun sets.
Filled with hope that a new day will dawn upon us, we shall embrace each other with certainty that we will make it together to the end of our time (be it that we experience its reality differently as in Lorentz transformation).
Such is my reflection (or if you prefer, daydreaming) of Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 8 in C Minor, Op. 13.
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