Conglomeration

The picture hanging over my couch of a man holding an umbrella, wearing a hat and very stoic in appearance intrigues me. Who is he? Imagine with me. He has every musical instrument flying out of his hat or is it his head or his brain? One can fancy it is his brain saying, “what can I play next.”  Maybe he is dreaming of thoughts we cannot conceive. Could he be contemplating what it would feel like to be one of those instruments? Today I will be a drum, violin or tuba, or cello, or violin or piano. No, today I will be bagpipes. “Blowing my bagpipes, that’s my bag.”   I logically consider his mind is composing a great symphony. But his talent is not of the skill level to compose music. He hears music in his head. Music that is never written. He sings songs no one can hear. He does not move an inch. Is he crazy? I think not. He is making joyful noises in his head. Could it be he dances in his mind? Wild and crazy dances in the wind. Promiscuous movements he would never make if anyone could see him. He may be a man imprisoned with imposed generational curses of “that would not be the behavior of a gentleman.”   If only he could capture the music he conjures up in his head and share it with his friends and family. This gentleman fears criticism of his choices. He is vulnerable to fear of inadequacy. He longs for the freedom to be the “Music Man” with “76 trombones in the big parade.” 

Unrealized aspirations, unreleased creativity, passion buried deep in his head will sadly never be revealed. So, he stands in the field, stoic with his umbrella and his hat and all sorts of musical instruments flying above his head.