Alone, I don’t offend anyone by being a mismatch for their energies. Anxieties and insistences flood my surroundings in most areas besides my home; incessant noises and movements in random, dis-harmonic rhythms make introspection a mythical ideal. Stillness lets the silence open before and around me so that I too can fill out its range and domain with my imaginative abilities and pleasures. Feeling the plushness of possible planes for potentials, the warmth of whole sums of completed compositions, and experiencing to the fullest extent: understanding. Maybe it is all a myth?