The room is still, but the air is filled with music. Jazz to be exact. The kind of real music that makes a soul wander and move like a firefly in the dark night sky. Jazz is movement. It isn’t held to any particular laws of physics. It’s free. Free to roam in my house and in my head. It’s free to take you to a place that other kinds of music won’t, because jazz has no boundaries. 

Jazz doesn’t care who you are. If you is a rich man or a poor man. Jazz only cares about the moment, and the moment is now. You don’t think about the past with jazz, nor do you worry about the future. Jazz is the only medium that will take you for what you are, at that moment, and make you great, or at least help you forget that you aren’t.

We are all equal in jazz’s eyes. We are all just the ocean that jazz floats upon. We carry it the way it carries us, and in doing so we create a magical dance of man and music, twisting in the moonlight, forgetting about everything and every worry.

Jazz has no memory.

Jazz let’s you know that you are alive, and not the take me to church kind of alive, because jazz is its own religion. It will baptise you in fire, and bring you down with cool man, just cool.

You can see jazz.

You can see jazz with the way the man puckers his lips to the trumpet, blowing his cheeks out like your soul about to burst out your chest. You can see jazz in the brush on the high hat, scratching the metal, scratching that itch you have that other music can’t touch.

Jazz is smooth like a cool drink on a hot day, but hard like a wild kiss from a hot lover.

Jazz keeps your attention, it doesn’t make your mind wander. It keeps you focused on where you are and who you’re with. You sit and stare, and watch as the movement of the band, though chaotic, is also smooth and rehearsed, like a surgeon’s hands.

If you were to watch the greats paint, you would see their hands move like that of the musician, purposeful and direct, yet free to choose the next step, the next stroke, the next note.

Jazz is what life should be and could be. Once you master the small stuff, you are free to explore and move, and no matter what you do, the beauty is there. And that is what jazz is. Beautiful. When a sax player masters his instrument, it doesn’t matter what he does, it just produces pure magic man. Pure magic.

Master your craft. Create magic, man.

Jazz is what brings me peace in crazy times, because it reminds me that crazy can be beautiful, if you just harness it right.

Jazz takes me away, and that is how I stay crowded. I grab my sticks and I play along, not trying to copy what the drummer does, but just play, adding my own bit of soul to the train. I move my hands where they are meant to go, not where they are supposed to. I don’t let my head tell me what to do, I just let my soul go, and like the birds in the sky, they will find their resting place, somewhere between a soft strike and hard beat. 

I let my hands go, because my heart will keep the beat, they are there to just play. And play they do. I become part of the dance, part of the music. I am smooth. I am free.

Jazz is what life is meant to be. A collaboration of beauty, not a fight for it. Jazz is what happens when you mix in all the ingredients and you taste them all, but they all combine to make something unforgettable, and satisfying….for the soul.

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