Long ago, in a wind-washed city by the river of Mook, there lived a musician named Everulska. He played both the silver flute and the hollow drum. In the marketplace he performed fiery solos leaping like fish from water. At night he played rhythm in a band of street cleaners who sang about storms, love, and lost goats. One evening, while the moon was a crescent, Everulska grew uneasy. \u201cWhy,\u201d he wondered, \u201cdo I feel different when I play alone than when I play behind others? Am I two musicians? One that soars and one that supports?\u201d He sought the counsel of an old mystic known for using questions to answer questions. The mystic was sitting beside a pot that gave off little whisps of smoke though there was no fire. Everulska asked his riddle. The mystic said nothing for a long time, then struck the pot, and like a bell it rang.\u201cYou hear the tone?\u201d said the mystic.
\u201cYes.\u201d
\u201cAnd do you hear the silence after it?\u201d
\u201cYes.\u201d
\u201cSo, which of them is doing the playing?\u201d Evarulska had no answer but that night when he returned to the band he noticed when he played rhythm, tiny melodies slipped out between beats; and when he solo’d, his hands also somewhat automatically fell into old rhythm patterns. He noticed it more and more, many nights to come. Two waves on the same river. He told the mystic. The mystic smiled.
\u201cIt is the mind,\u201d he said, \u201cthe drummer and the soloist share the same breath. Thought and silence are not two. One part argues, another nods, then both forget what they were talking about. \u201d Years later, Evarulska taught young musicians, and sometimes told them:
\u201cWhen you solo, listen as if you\u2019re playing rhythm. When you play rhythm, treat it as if soloing. The mind is a band, some parts sing, some keep time but to nobody belongs the tune.\u201d And the students said they understood, which made Evarulska laugh. \u201cOkay,\u201d he said, \u201cnow forget it.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"