It's all in my head. It's all in my head. They're all in my head. Now who they are exactly is something of a question mark.

There are a lot of them. They are hard to discern, so it often sounds like one loud voice. But it makes more sense that it is a combined effort. It's interesting, because I give people a pass, assuming there's no bad intention. They didn't intend to become a nightmarish mantra in my head. So that absolves them. Not that I'm really interested in blaming anyone. But fact from fiction is important here. One must accurately identify the culprits in the course of history, regardless of intention. You can only surmise intention. Even the party in question may not know their own intent. Intent comes partly from the gut, rather than the mind.

There are those who have inadvertently or purposefully drilled their poison into my brain and soul. That is the situation, and I am left here to pick up the pieces and put myself back together. I must retrieve my shattered soul from it's little corner where it likes to hide from the nasties. It must supplant all the chaos and hopelessness. It's kind of like the Tao Te Ching, right? The strongest force is water. The quiet, flowing true soul (the Way) has the capacity to erode any behemoths. Love is akin to this, too. If I were more in touch with my loving self over the years, I could have had some protection from the nasties.

I've always wanted to give 110%. It's interesting that I think I can turn that off. It is my nature. I look for ways to express intensity. I can't convince myself that it is unstable and therefore undesirable. If I have managed to curb my appetite for unbridled-ness somewhat, I'm a little afraid to imagine how I used to be.

I will suffer amazing amounts of pain in efforts to succeed and to drink in life experiences. I have two ways of behaving: 150% or 15%. All or nothing, basically. Somehow my brain and my soul are not tuned to those middle percentages; I don't even notice life at that wattage. Is that why cats like me?

The human heart seeks expression. But it seems that some of the most beautiful forms of such demand significant limits. I think that I want endlessness and unbridled-ness. And I do. But there must be the yin to accommodate the yang. Otherwise you fall off the deep end and you lose exactly that destination, that telos you most want to savor.

The need for constraint comes more naturally for some than others. You are naturally drawn to those who personify contrasting qualities. It is the painful truth of yin and yang. It is the irony which flies below the radar oftentimes.

I just noticed that there's a delightful bonus when I am at liberty to bend my thumb. I can phrase. I have somewhere to land after an up feeling. I am not up all the time. I can come down, musically and physically.

It works both ways. If I bend my thumb, it helps engender the downward downbeat arrival placement in a timely fashion. And if I strive to make the consequence of an upbeat feel and sound right, I discover that a locked thumb impedes it.

It seems to assist this when I have the thumb straight (but not bent backwards) during the upbeat. The thumb seems to play the music with me. How helpful.

Another surprising twist is that these upbeat and downbeat thumb responses need not be on upbows and downbows. They can happen anywhere in the course of a bow stroke, as long as the music calls for the appropriate inflection. It is incredible, this pliancy and independence of the thumb.

I just can't believe what an extraordinary art form teaching is. It is so different than playing. Although it is like performing in one way: you use the inspiration of the moment to communicate your deepest, wisest notions.

Sometimes I am shocked at what comes out of my mouth in lessons. Maybe often. One thing that shocks me is how different it is than my own thoughts and technical hurdlings. It is like new pathways are being forged in my mind, in response to the needs of the student.

But basically I feel it is a unique art form. It is a special pursuit. I never really thought that in the past. Of course it is an extension of the performing art, but with such differing parameters and directions taken. You have to connect things differently. Your body and breath and speech and eyes and ears. Just the speaking part begins to redirect the experience beyond performing. And then when you interact with the student so closely, attempting to meld your thought processes a bit, new channels open up. It feels never-ending in its potential, in a beautifully variant way from playing.