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.

When I get it right, everything seems to hum. The fingers just lay on the string with their own weight. The vibrato only requires a gentle wiggle. I feel a warm feeling of trust and ease throughout my body. It's like someone once said, the body is actually supposed to fall naturally into place, if only you could direct it appropriately.

These good vibes this morning were a result of last night's practice session. I discovered a simple truth. In order to achieve a like feeling in all of the fingers, you have to arc them the same, and distance them equally from the thumb. The thumb must be willing to alter its depth. So it is deepest for the fourth finger, gradually getting shallower as you descend to one, until the thumb may not even be in contact with the neck for the first finger. I couldn't believe how obvious it was, especially since I'd never heard talk of it.

Why is it always my birthday o'clock when I glance at the time? Odd.

The bobbing motion I enjoyed yesterday may have different implications than I thought. Even with my arm still, I can find comfort with the left hand angle and vibrato as long as I am playing slowly, with little or no rhythms. Once you add different note lengths and emphases, the position goes all to hell. But I think with the aid of the rhythmic bobbing, I can reconcile the distortions and imbalances. It forces a balance and symmetry to the arm/hand unit. It can be overused, as I was experiencing at work today, but maybe when used as a cherry on top of an already functional position, it adds the last crucial piece to the puzzle.

I have also been futzing with my bow grip over the last many months, moving the hand closer to the end of the bow. I wanted to use more fingers than just the index to make sound, so having them touch the frog seemed like a good start. What has also happened is my thumb has become nomadic. It varies placement anywhere from the inner curve to the corner of the frog. I think I have become more sensitive to thumb-related issues of late, so I've been considering the exact role of the right one. It seems to be pushing (pulling) the bow to the right and up, which ends up driving the hair down into the string. But this particular direction seems best achieved with the thumb wedged into that corner next to the stick.

I may have (accidentally) struck upon something which apparently all Starker students are supposed to know. Tension/release. I was getting ready to pull all of my remaining hairs out due to frustration with left hand tension. Instead, I unconsciously started bobbing my arm up and down to the beat, a movement which I associate with preparation, breathing, and feeling pulse - all of which were drilled into us in room 205, I believe it was. After doing that, it made perfect sense that it would apply to the tension/release philosophy he apparently espoused most of his teaching life. It was only due to focusing 98% of my brain power on this persistent problem that I experienced the connection.

The up and down motion smooths over much of the paradoxical nature of L.H. and L.A. intricacies. It causes many things to move in the right directions, it gives a natural sense of release and freedom, and it doesn't go counter to music making like so much technical compartmentalizing does. It also seems the more I tailor the motions to the phrasing and the desired impulses, the better it works as a release mechanism. Maybe tension/release could be less succinctly rephrased as inevitable tension/controlled respite.

Actually I think Starker referred to using tension for the necessary strength to play beautiful notes. Appropriate tension makes clear sounds. Incorporating release enhances the resonance and gives breath to the phrase.

Upon further exploration of the left hand, I noticed that the arm plays an important role in providing balance to the hand. I like to use the chicken wing metaphor when describing the up and down motion of the arms. This helps distinguish the upper arm from the shoulders and forearm. When it's elevated, it also gives the hand a stabilizing table to connect to, requiring less effort from the wrist and finger muscles.

But there's another arm motion, the forearm one. It correlates to vibrato, it was recently explained to me. It's like a pushing motion, or like when you gesture to someone to back away further. I believe the muscles used for this help support the angling of the hand and fingers. It's a little like having a prosthetic arm or a mannequin arm, where you can move the arm around while keeping the hand still. The arm is doing most of the work. The hand must be loose, of course.

The thumb's job is to help keep the hand shape in tact. Not to squeeze the neck or somehow help with finger pressure. Simple alignment.

So the goal is to find as many myriad ways to get the pressure down into the string without any effect on the thumb. The thumb seems to come into play when there is an imbalance on the upper end, with the finger placement. The thumb tries to balance it. It should not be needed for that, if you can achieve that balance with appropriate mechanisms up above the string.

You can also go at it from reverse. You make sure the thumb stays loose, in turn giving little option but to balance the hand and fingers exclusively. You must keep that goal in mind, though, or old habits slip in.

The thumb is really tempted to help out with the first finger. It thinks it is attached to it. But you must insist that it is a separate digit, despite its juxtaposition.

I not only have issues with distancing myself - to the point of shunning - from the present, but I am positively prejudiced against it. I adore the past, and always keep a torch burning bright for the future. The present though, I could care less. I always am wishing it simply would disappear. And eventually you get your wishes. I wish dearly I could appreciate the present. And not just for a minute or two, and not just after a near-death-experience. I think that describes well what was happening there in South Dakota. All I needed was the present. I didn't need any Earth-shattering memories of the past or intense yearnings and plannings for the future. I didn't need my normally overwhelming fantasy life. I only needed to wake up in the morning. I remember telling people that, actually. Somehow a calamity puts things nicely in perspective. It's dangerous to have things too good, it seems.

When I speak of the present, it means both the actual present moment, or more key perhaps, present day life situations.