Yesterday, while playing in a rehearsal, I was so aware of the strings and the bow, and suddenly so aware of my self directing the sound. The being of my self as the director, as far as I understood directing to be with all that I am aware of my self here.
Earlier in the car, on the ride to Boston, I had talked with my second violinist about how the mind is the projecting of idea onto an object. And this morning this “thought” returned. I tied the two together, how being the mind is like playing the violin. Being the mind, emotions and feelings , is like directing of oneself, the directing of what is here, the separation of oneself as one directs oneself into the dramas of belief that consume and sever any awareness of what is actually here.
And then I return to my childhood and the endless seeming war that I had with my father, the war was so bad I was kept away from my father, asked to “just not talk to him”.
In these moments with him I became stubborn, absolutely stubborn, fixed in holding this, I can’t even remember what I was fixing my self in/or why, at this point I merely have this sense of “holding “ my self absolutely, kind of like how I direct the sound on the violin. Which is how my “sound” on the violin is described by others, absolutely focused.
I remember my sisters watching me in this process of meeting my father with this stubbornness, silent, not speaking, just watching as my father grew more and more frustrated as I stood in my absolute stubbornness, this that I am calling absolute stubbornness.
And then I have the memory come up of my parents saying that living in Europe “tempered” me, where my reaction was one of anger towards this, and this sense of absolute stubbornness wants existence, this “fuck you”, you can’t touch me.
is it ironic that both times I have spoken of projections through the mind they have been on a rock, or something that is made from rock, from stone? Where I am aware of the focus of my self, as being focus onto/into something, be it a rock, sending the smoke of shadow that is a drama that takes me away from being here. Where I focus myself onto, and into, as being something that is not here, as being something of the mind.
This memory of absolute stubbornness, of holding in and as my self being similar to how i play the violin and hold the sound, aware of how I am directing as my will. Is this how, in a way, it is very difficult when I am this focus to become tired?
So, through the force of my will, a shear stubbornness of my self, the direction of my self, as when I am directing the hair on the string, I must will all my dramas back to my self.
But, I have to ask my self, why was I holding my self in this, what I call, absolute stubbornness?
Is this where I was hiding, hiding from the words and anger of my father, a shield. Is this how I “hold my self in”, the constriction. This stubbornness a fear of loss of self, an attempt to hold onto oneself, to shield me from my father’s mind as words and anger, that which I know he had from his father? This “reaction” being a direction that is not a direction, that is the direction of my self as a kind of drama, as it is within a drama, as it is a reaction to a drama.
Might this also be considered pride?