Cocoa, Mahogany and the Cello

Something dark, something resonating, something wonderful and something so invigorating.

Each time some maestro draws his bow over those taut, tuned cello strings, and the first sounds, so deep and rumbling, emanate, I have to clutch at something, to stop my otherwise assured fall into something I may not approve of later. It started many years ago, when I heard the very first classical piece, but it was not love at first sound. I loved the tune, surely, but then, the first few times I was so entranced by the more prominent sounds, I barely noticed the others. The mind does not register very clearly what you don't want to hear. This is true.

It is only when you listen, not with your conscious mind, but your sub-conscious one, that you start to appreciate the true construction of that wonderful piece of music. You start to break down the complex structure into simpler ones, dividing and sub dividing, untangling and reassembling, till you finally extract that last, most exquisite drop of crystal that resounds so clearly, and you encounter nothing; nothing but silence. You have successfully separated the most number of different sounds you can hear and understand, and if you knowledge of instruments is good, you may have completely segregated them, I'm sure.

Well I was not, all that good, it being my first time, but I did notice, now that I had taken care to "look" at the music, that there was more to it than meets the ear. Those 'Oh-so-brilliant' violins were so - Empty - when all alone. Not that I don't love solo violin pieces (Forgive my plebeian nature with terminology), it was just so much more complete with the cello. I think they are the most amazing of string instruments, with the harp and guitar at close second.

I found that the whole cocoon was built with all that heavy, brooding and soulful cello, and the others were the ornaments on the Christmas tree. What's Christmas without the tree eh? When that neon bulb went on in my head, I fell, headlong into an abyss, I fell in love with the cello. I went on a cello spree since then, grabbing any little thing I could, listening to all the little bits I could get my hands and ears on. Where I came from, the internet was no so vastly used in homes as it is here, and not nearly a quarter as fast, so I lost precious time. Buying was out of the question, our wallet was not deep enough.

And then I found high-speed internet, and my tiny dreams came true. I listened. Oh I heard! I was in rapture.

Those waves of mahogany flowed over me, caressing, enticing, ensconcing, enervating and I was reveling in it. It left me longing, wanting more and more till my skin prickled, my toes curled and my whole self tingled, in anticipation and fulfillment.

I loved music even more, if That was even possible. I am obsessed with it, cannot live in it's absence, and it runs through my very core. I have it strung into my very nerves, muscles and sinews. It holds court in my soul, my heart and my mind. I tried to learn, but found myself too lacking to be pure. I found my amateur skills a blasphemy. I resorted to walking around with music in my ears, tapping my feet and generally in a trance. Whether I am waking or sleeping, working or relaxing, it has me so thoroughly like a puppy at it's feet.

Obsession, I think so, but no obsession has been this wonderful.