I was lying on the living room carpet next to my father. I think I was three, maybe four. The tones swept through the stereo. It could have been Mozart. It could have been Beethoven.

It was real. So familiar.

I could see the deer so clearly in my head as they danced along to the melodies. I watched their lives in the forest unfold to the sound of the symphony.

White keys, black keys, each had a story to tell.

I could see the stories, and I wrote them.

Mom hid her guitars under little brother’s crib. Remember when we would sneak in and play them pretend? Maybe that is where this started. Maybe she hid them to be found. In them, I discovered melody and every melody was a door to another, and another.

A thousand memories lived inside the grain.

Sitting alone in my bedroom, legs crossed, brain on fire with emotion from the albums. Music meant everything to me. It took me away. It was transcendent. As I listened, I could see the sounds in my head. I wanted to know what it was that created those sounds.

I needed to know.

As I searched, more instruments appeared. I listened to their stories; unique and intriguing. They showed me their language.

I learned to speak.

“Storm Watch” was the soundtrack of our road trips to the Red Rocks. Dad showed me rock and roll. Together, we performed for thousands. Simon and Garfunkle, James Taylor, and even The Beatles played with us from time to time in the front room. Sister played concertos through the violin. Brother sang so loud while he cut the grass that I could hear his words above the wash of the engine.

Mom smiled.

Long before I met my instrument, it was decided I would be part of this.

Notes bridge the gap from our hands to the souls of listeners. And in that process of shaking souls, our spirit is electrified. Sanctified. Simplified. It is this reciprocal vibration that keeps us chasing.

Cars harmonize as they rush by. Pedestrians subdivide as they travel the streets. The ocean keeps time with ebbs and flows. Even the crickets still sing the accompaniment to midnight conversation.

Lifes meaning finds form as we rearrange this ancient noise.