Rhythms

Rhythms, rhythms everywhere.

Thumping drums.

Crashing cymbals, high and tinny.

Deep throated bass notes. 

Haunting melodic flutes.

Stomping feet. Mincing steps. Sliding strides.

Marching, dancing, ever moving.

Rhythms pull, inviting, calling to join that particular syncopation.

My solitary steps along a side path have now joined the wider street. Here, the rhythm is different. Laughter punctuates the solemn march which slides into a softer glide, then flows back toward a march. Ebbing and flowing. The changes hold their own beat, complementing and tying the whole together. 

My steps join in, keeping time, sliding and gliding between ebbs and flows. 

They falter. I’m out of sync. This rhythm, though good, doesn’t feel natural … yet? 

Will it ever?

Or am I made for a different rhythm? A counterpoint to the group cadence? A melodic accent to the music of the whole?

Or will I be a discord? A beat out of rhythm that breaks the flow?

I try again to slide and march and glide with them. 

It is a good music. Pleasing and beautiful.

But it is not mine.

Following a rhythm not my own takes effort. It is wearing, wearying, eventually exhausting, though I try to join without discord.

How do I find my own rhythm that flows with the whole orchestra? If I don’t, will the symphony be incomplete?

I move to the side for a moment. Pause on the edge of the music. Listen… listen on the outside and on the in.

I close my eyes. Reach with my other senses. Hear. Feel. Pay attention.

What is my part? How do I join the music in a way I can sustain? That will not exhaust me trying to match the beautiful beats that yet feel … off, out of sync?

Slowly I hear and feel my own rhythm. 

Eyes still closed, I carefully join the main flow, moving now in my own way.

Not matching other feet. Not worrying about keeping their time. 

Slowly I drop into a rhythm that flows effortlessly from within. 

It weaves in and out of theirs.

Different.

Unique.

Separate but in tune.

The symphony swells, rich with harmonies, beautiful with melodic lines in point and counterpoint.

My individual rhythm is part of the whole.