from my first little black book:

1/12/05 1:38 a.m. (on tour)

Reflecting on the concert: the moments that made me want to cry--an act so intimate to me I try never to perform it in public--are not the perfectly in tune chords, the harmonies so locked I dare say this paper, gold leaf paper, could not permeate the gaps, but knowing how even a single audience member, must feel being bathed in a seemingly ceaseless wave of dedication and love magnified more than fifty times. The human heart cannot be limited to giving only 100%, doing so would diminish humanity and insult its creator.

Music serves no intrinsic purpose, only as a gift. Singing to an audience of none is, therefore, wasteful. Even one listener makes these moments priceless necessary.

1/13/05 12:54 a.m.(on tour)

Tears, again keeping me from the public, coated my eyes--looking into the face of a stranger, an elderly woman, her aged eyes pleading for our performance to continue eternally, extending her mortality beyond constraints of time, or, at the very least, trumpet her arrival to infinity, her song in the night.

So moving was her expression, a partial mix of longing, passion and solemnity, struggle as I might, I could not finish our closing hymn. How can a gift so beautiful as song be so painful to give? Having to stop, to end the giving... I didn't want to stop. In this moment, given the opportunity to handle the stress of eternal performance, I would still be singing. My spirit is ready, willing and able to give if only for that one expression, that eternal expression of the infinite one more time.

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