No one is more surprised than I to find that, after a particular performance of a piece of music that I thought I knew, I experience an unexpected, almost unknown emotion that overwhelms me.  
As I typed in the title of this post I had in my mind the Maurice Sendak title Where the Wild Things Are, because that is what it feels like: it is as if the music had reached that place where the unnamed beings live inside ourselves.  Or like the Wallace Stevens line: "A lion, an ox in his breast..."
All of this accessible through the life of tone, not through any intended searching; and accessible not just to me, the player, but even more so, to you, the listener.
 


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