Beethoven is like a tree that falls when no one is there.

—
only, it is heard.

Dr. Murphy says “Beethoven didn’t compose music, he

created it.” In a way it is true. Beethoven is beautiful, yet
unearthly. not sadness, not joy, not a tranquil breeze or
scenic view. .. It not human—but it speaks directly to some
part of me deep inside. But how then do I read it? Interpret
it? If it doesn’t represent any type of emotion, if it doesn’t
represent anything known to me?—yet I feel it, the passion
and power, one of a deep longing and searching and finding
and understanding—sometimes disturbed by that
understanding—and sometimes resigned to it, even peace in
every breath of futility—the composer/philosopher/priest
perhaps. I know what I am saying makes no sense. This is
exactly the problem. I can’t put a specific feeling to this
music. And as much as I like to think that I feel what I play,
those emotions tangible to me have no place here.
I must become music, like Beethoven was music. I have to
grow into this—but the beauty makes me want to play it
now. Murphy once said to me “I would love to hear the
music in your head.” Music is too filled with love and pain
to exist there, making it even harder to express in its true
form. While that which exists in the head can be put in
order logically; music is music only when it is unleashed
from the creators’ soul and set free from the limits of
physicality to soar across in the boundless intimacy of the
human spirit—yes, I sound crazy, but it is so. The instability
of this unimaginable infinity that holds music’s power and
strength and beauty— This is its passion and fire in all of its
brilliance of spirit.