freiheit

There's something deeply personal about the experience of freedom. Yet, as any transcendentalist will tell you, the subjective freedom is constantly tethered to a whole string of reality in which freedom becomes contingent, but not subservient, to the freedom of the other. Be that as it may, true or not, the intial spark of freedom is something unforgettable. Maybe because it holds within that moment so much potency for act. Maybe because one cannot anticipate one's own action. In any rate, there are two separate orders of freedom in my life right now: my academic writing and music.

I've reached the point in my study that I need to start producing original information. Until now "research" has pretty much meant a whole series of qualified paraphrases. At this point, however, people are expecting some sort of contribution towards an idea or process that goes beyond oneself. But what how does this imply freedom? The freedom occurs in those instances where I can jump and lose touch with stable ground. Only the self-produced momentum sustains me as I hang in the air. And, in many ways, only the gravity of tradition and orthodoxy bring me back down. Some make giant leaps while others pounce but gingerly over new intellectual scapes. I'm sure sure what I'm doing right now. It has been in the last few days that I have understood the scope of my freedom. If I have felt it before, I have forgotten about it - perhaps out of necessity. Freedom as such as at once wonderful and terrifying. It is terrifying because we do just that - leave the ground for a bit. In such a world, up, down, left, right, are all relative until we are grounded again in tradition. It is this constant tension, this exitus/reditus that is supposed to instill confidence in the writer. I've none of that right now. How comforting it is, being solely grounded, being "boring"!

The other freedom is musical. Earlier tonight I practiced the Corelli violin sonatas. They aren't difficult. At least what's on the page. Baroque music lends itself to all sorts of ornamentation which makes or breaks interpretation and execution. Unlike later Transitional or proper "Classical" music, Corelli still writes his bass lines in figured bass, often inverting melody for harmony and vice versa. In other words, a passing tone of the bass is often inserted into a melodic line. The modern ear is often displeased. Yet, there is something truly Baroque about it. This implies that it is up to the discretion of the performer, the practioner, to decide how one will ornament or observe the line. Corelli was infamous for writing whole notes that took up the entire measure. It was obvious that he did not intend the solo part to sustain a note. It was his way, rather, of laying very faint guidelines as to what the soloist would do. Mindful of this, I began to play the opening movement of his first sonata. There's a sustained A above middle C. When played as written the piece is dull and lifeless. But after a few trills, mordents, half scales, thirds, and broken arpeggios, the line begins to sing. There were a few moments where I caught myself doing something I knew was anachronistic - augmented 7ths would probably have had me burnt at the stake as a heretic. Again, freedom in this case is plentiful, but so is that internal principle within which says, "Ouch. That's just...awful."

I don't know what to do with this freedom. The paradox lies in the fact that I haven't felt so enslaved to certain things in a long while. I feel like my upcoming weeks are predetermined by a set of work. And yet, my newfound sense of freedom has come to energize me, motivate me, but above all, call me to greater self-authenticity.