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JLabsente
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Name: james
Country: United States
State: Washington
Metro: Seattle
Birthday: 8/6/1984
Gender: Male
Interests: violin,cello,viola,guitar,books,brain scans,cycling,rock climbing,basketball,ping-pong,dancing in my room...
Expertise: Not yet
Occupation: Student
Industry: Engineering
Message: message me
AIM:  JLabsente
MSN: zigeunerweize@hotmail.com
Member Since:
8/13/2005
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| "When illusions are shattered by truth, talent is set free" Lian Hearn, Across the Nightingale floor, Tales of Otori
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| “He who knows not and knows not he knows not: he is a fool - shun him. He who knows not and knows he knows not: he is simple - teach him. He who knows and knows not he knows: he is asleep - wake him. He who knows and knows he knows: he is wise - follow him.”
The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions.
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| Definitions are a tricky thing. Is there a definition to everything?
Definition is a name. A definition defines a certain matter, names the characteristic of that matter, so that later on, people can easily address that matter. That was the definition of a definition.
The existence of a definition enabled us to see what is what, so that we can address this and that when we need to, but also poses a possible limitation to what is what.
This is this, and that is that, end of story, is what a definition postulates through the act of defining, delineating, and drawing a line to encircle a particular matter, in order to seperate that particular matter from others and to give that particular matter its distinctive shape. A shape that is rigid and allows no room.
But if there were no definitions, then it would be hard to distinguish A and B. Misunderstoods arise, conflicts asoar, we could never communicate and address. We would be stuck in the mist of what we do not know is.
Readers be aware, this is no rock-like essay on the exploitation of the fine philosophies of what defining. Yet, this is just another one of the mundane essays on love and relationships you might be so fed up sick and tired of.
Definition of love. Can love be defined? Suppose it could not be defined, then what does it mean when one says
"your definition of love is different from mine"
Suppose it could be defined, what, exactly is it then?
Some say it is sacrifice, some postulate it is care, some link it with jealously, arguing that one gets jealous because of love.
Some say it is an ultimate level of tacit understanding, some say it is from attraction, a sense of suction that blurs your judgement and deteriorates your rationality to a degree that all you could ever care of is the source of such suction. When you fall in that kind of suction strong than that from a cosmic black hole, they define that you have fallen in love.
Others say it is an amalgamation joy and pain, happyiness and sorrow, sweet and bitter, a conglomeration of emotions so complex that due to the impossibility of giving a definition, the term love was inaugurated to summarize all the sophistication.
And yet some still believe love is all happiness, some even think if you love, you will never get jealous, for love is trust, and when you trust, it is hardly you ever get jealous.
Nevertheless, I still can not pinpoint what love is. I cannot define what love is, so that I have the ability to be able to appreciate how is it possible that when love lacks a definition, there can be a difference of difinition when there is no such thing to compare of.
Perhaps it is the difference describes that of existing definition, and non-existing definition.
Can the definition of love be so extremely clear cut to a degree that one could confidently assert and pinpoint the existence of a difference?
I cannot help but disagree, love is yet to be defined in ones lifetime. Love, is a course with no syllabus, no lecture notes, and instructors everywhere giving midterms every second. Love is the mixture of all those aforementioned possibilities. Love is itself about possibility. Predictably, love is defined as the summation of all emotions, all suctions, all attachments and distances, the complications and care and jealousy, and unconditional sacrifice, and rationality, and irrationality, darkness and light, tears and laughter. Love is the abrupt combination of opposites in the style of mixture you could not imagine yet appreciate and could not help but continuously fall.
Is that my definition?
How do I know I love you? Does thinking about you all day count? Does enduring the sorrow of not being able to hold you right now count? Does being understanding count? Does sacrifice count?
Had I justified sacrifice as an evidence of love, I would have conflicted the possible definition that love is unconditional sacrifice, for my sacrificne evolved to have one particular condition entailing the person's acknowledgement.
Could I sacrifice because I loved, and believed that acknowledgement is not important?
I would be stuck in never ending maze of sacrifice to proove, whilest acknowledgement is never given, I will never finish the job of prooving my love.
Then love would be defined as a series of act that continues to occur, involving sacrifice from both sides until one day, if we are lucky enough, both finally open their eyes and see how much sacrifice has been made
Is that practical? Then some would argue, love has never been pratical.
Yes indeed, after lines of sentence, readers probably think they've wasted their time reading this argument of no end, and I apologize, for Love, there is no definition
Even the oldest would claim love is a tricky business, a funny emotion that we humans have and animals don't; that love, is still as mysterious as it were in high school, and that love still gives you butterflies in your stomach, still gives you heartache and a bitterness, and yet you still ask for it.
When all that effort of defining the unknown breaks down, one may succumb to the "outside-the-box" definition "what do you care what love is, just follow your heart"
I like that definition, simple and hassle free, involving no complicated discussions nor convoluted arguments. Free of the rigorous definition of preciseness and accuracy, devoid of rigidness and spells the essence of the mysterious and ever changing characteristic of love.
I follow my heart, the more I follow, the clearer it becomes, the clearer what Love is becomes:
When I imagine being incapacitated nowadays, I no longer muse deeply on how deeply affected my life would be and how I would attmpt to come up with a plan to counter that. Today when I imagine being incapacitated, I know you willl be there, holding my hands like you did before, and I would have a plan of how to counter incapacitation.
I want to be there, I really do, I want to be there whenever I can, so that I am part of your life
I want to see you, even if it is through a monitor, a picture, a photo. I am delighted to see you.
I want to hold you, even if it is impossible, I want to hold anything that has any sinle hint of your presence, I want to hold it, and smell it, because I miss your smell.
I want to squeeze the rose bear as hard as I can, because when I squeeze so hard, I can feel the solid existence of you
I want to call you once in a while, even if we can only talk for one minute, that one minute means the world to me
I want to chat with you, even when you are distracted looking at something else, I still want to chat with you, I couldn't help but smiling just by seeing you.
I want to knit, I know my mistakes are horrible, but I wished that I would weave together the wounds.
How do I know I love you?
I know that for sure because you are in every picture in my thoughts, you are in every image.
How do I know I love you?
Because even when you are in every picture of every thought of every minute, if you tell me that does not meet your expectations, I will strive harder to meet them.
How do I know know I love you?
I know because I can feel it so strongly from the core of my heart that I love you.
Now readers rest assured, I do not love all of you, but among you lies who know whom I do. Against my usual low profile fashion, today I jump out to say whats in my heart. Readers you may laugh, you may mock, and offer me an afternoon of satire, but, no offense intended, I care only of that one particular.
The sun seems to be peeking out of the clouds. I wish today would seem nice and beautiful.
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| Speak clearly, if you speak at all;
Carve every word before you let it fall. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.
Perfection. Medicine expected it. We demanded it. We failed in our first attempt at Mount Success. But we'll spend the rest of our lives trying. ~Ellen Lerner Rothman
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| I found a violin....
After I lost the 1988 London Williams & Sons, I've never touched a violin since then.
I've never picked any piece of wood with nylon strings and try to disrupt their peaceful installation through vibration.
I've forgotten how tight should I screw the bow.
I've grew afraid of sound, and I've not been talking to them for a long time.
I've lost touch with that realm since then. And I can't seem to remember how I lost the violin.
Thar part of memory seemed to be blank, a clog of empty white space, menacing outwards, growing, deteriorating.
I've never dared to stare into the blank. I decided that I am no music material.
I am better off science, even though I don't do well there either.
Then, I found a violin.
One day I found the 1986 Mheguagon Guinari copy. It was made in 1986 on August 18th in some Asian city that I am not familiar of. Or did the violin found me? I am not sure, but I got hold of that violin through a fervent tennis player. Ever since I picked up the violin and inspected at it carefully at it's craftsmanship, it's tone, it's texture, I seem be drawn back to that piece of instrument time from time.
I've started to become comfortable with bows and strings, but still dwell outside the region where I used to be. I used the Guinari Copy, not to play any Sarasate, but only to play the Latin melodies. It wasn't until during one session of violin demo that I suddenly realized how the Mheguagon was not made to play those tropical rhythms. Her high notes are crisp and clear, while her bass notes are thick and colorful, hinting an interesting past. Every violinist establishes a special connection with the instrument. While we often say we wanted to find a suitable violin that we can express our emotions with, the reality is often the violin that finds us. The Mheguagon is interesting. It makes me burn with yearn that I felt I could use the bass notes in the begining of Zigeunerweisen, and then latter use the clear high notes in the fast passages. It made me remember what Zigeunerweisen sounded like. It made my blood capable of running faster under the rapid Gypsy beat. It made me better; it made me alive.
Since then, I've begun to look at the 1986 Guinari copy differently.
We have then crossed path frequently. On August 6th in a private performance I was blessed to use Mheguagon again. It, I think I am starting to feel the connection, the spirit and soul of the violin, that I will refer to it as she, I think she had a decorated top and a sexy bottom voice that I thought something was chemical. Though I wanted to earn her respect and so I acted aloof towards the exceptional tone that night. I then communicated with the violin for hours every day and up until now, I still cannot believe that I could ever find such a high level of spiritual communication with a violin from the Asian market.
It was August 10th, when the violin and the fiddler made their disposition under the bridge. I was able to borrow the violin for practice until 4 am in the morning. Yet the practice session hasn't gone as smooth as it used to. The bass notes sounded rounder and the high notes mellower and I thought maybe the violin had something to say, while in fact, I myself had a secret statement to make. I took the piece of magical artwork to down under the bridge, away from all the city lights, away from my room mates and away from the sick screen that is the easy tunnel to that polluted world out there.
Under the bridge, I closed my eyes and felt the wind and the trees. Then I slowly ran my hand through the curls and swirls of the instrument, and I played a note and let it ring while I feel the vibration in my heart. Then I started to play with no direction and with no conscious of what I am playing. Yet I felt the beautiful notes from the Mheguagon again. It was that early morning that we have decided to be together. I played music I've never heard of until the sun slowly brushes me back home with its yellow grazes.
Life is neither happy nor sad but unpredictable. After the lost, I could not believe I could ever play music again, not to mention that I could not believe I could ever meet her, the perfect Mheguagon Guinari Copy who is so precious to me that surprisingly, I often feel cherished by the violin. It is often said that the first step of great music is great connection between the fiddler and the violin. Though the type of connection I feel with Mheguagon is more than extraordinary. It made me, for the first time, wanted to thank a violin, the Mheguagon for treating me so nice, for lending me it's powerful voice to express music, and for communicating with me and going to wherever I am lead.
I thought I was incapable of love but I have yet fallen in love with the new found instrument. The violin that is not just a violin and often touches my heart in various ways that I cannot imagine. The piece of art that taught me the a different meaning of art. The Guinari copy that made me forgot about Stradivarius and experienced the joy of spiritual connection in a completely different level.
Every time I lay hands on that violin, time flies and practice sessions that were few hours seemed like few seconds. Even until nowadays. I could play the violin without touching it, so that sometimes, even though we are miles apart, the connection is by no means any dimmer.
Mheguagon has redefined music of my understanding and pushed me to a different level. I love you.
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