“A little song on the breeze”
What a gentle little Zephyr
This evening will sigh
Under the pines in the little grove.
And the rest he’ll understand.”
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
LE NOZZE DI FIGARO
Act III Duetto: “Sull’aria…che Soave Zeffiretto”
**
Andy Dufresne: That’s the beauty of music. They can’t get that from you… Haven’t you ever felt that way about music?
Red: I played a mean harmonica as a younger man. Lost interest in it though. Didn’t make much sense in here.
Andy Dufresne: Here’s where it makes the most sense. You need it so you don’t forget.
Red: Forget?
Andy Dufresne: Forget that… there are places in this world that aren’t made out of stone. That there’s something inside… that they can’t get to, that they can’t touch. That’s yours.
Red: What’re you talking about?
Andy Dufresne: Hope. ~The Shawshank Redemption
The last eight years has been a strange recapitulation for me of my life. Some esoteric individuals call it a preparation for the “return of Saturn in my natal chart.” It is the time of turning 57 to 60. Yet I have experienced it, all the same, in the last eight years. A couple of years before 2010 is when it started; a need to look back at my youthful rebellion. Now the revival or nostalgia has reached a Peak of the Bell Curve. As a generation feeling, I was not the only one from my generation feeling the same pull. It is all in the song, one note to the next, and it took me back to a time when finding a 45 was not an easy proposition. Now it is too darn easy. Writing a book has lost its charm now because there are so many ‘telling a tale’ or ‘weaving a story ‘of those same rebellious times. For me it all comes down to the experience. Looking it square in the face and being happy. I am admiring old friends that still hang to the musical notes of rebellion , where some friends /comrades are as warm as the sun and others as cold as death. Yet it is a good journey still to hope for something new without memories.
Andy Dufresne: You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific?
Red: No.
Andy Dufresne: They say it has no memory. That’s where I want to live the rest of my life. A warm place with no memory. ~The Shawshank Redemption
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/breakdown/
stephen king
How to separate the memories, the tangible fragments of my former self from the me now? How to rebel when rebellion has become the currency of the realm? I don’t much like cliches but “it’s an inside job” seems to fit here.
Thanks for perceiving!!!