I lightly rested my fingers on the white, smooth ivory keys of my old Yamaha upright. The dust I had raised pulling out my mother's old music floated in the golden rays cast from the window behind me. Each speck of dust moved in its own dance. As I watched their dance my fingers moved in a dance of their own; dancing out a familiar mournful melody. A melody of waiting, a melody of the passing of time. I closed my eyes. Shutting myself off from the world. Only listening, feeling the music. My body swayed left and right with the melody while my spirit resonated with the chords. Every fiber of my being engaged, experiencing the wonder of music. The song was alive, and I was the breath giving it life. The song no longer floated through the air like a graceful dancer. The music became a part of me; it became me. And it was no longer me playing the music. It was me leaping so gracefully in the air. No longer bound by myself. Bound by what I think I should be, should feel, should act. I simply, was. Each note vibrated with my surroundings, like the heartbeat of Earth herself. And I was all, and all was one. And as the last note drifted into silence; it's own personal death. I took a breath and opened my eyes and was born again.