A Time Before

for Kathinka There was a time before you became a flutist, your beloved flute did not yet accompany your life. When was the moment of discovery? Perhaps the child Kathinka dreamed of playing the flute, like an adept, nimble fingers racing through scales and effortless arpeggios. Did you see flashes of your future self in those years of preparation? Or did you turn instead to other delights: butterflies, a flower patch, games of skill and chance, quiet moments with an older relative who comforted you... Music was already shaping your future self. It made you promises that took up residence in your heart and opened your awakening mind to its vastness, like an inland sea, whose rolling waves matched the tides of your being. Your lips never touch the flute itself: a column of tremulous breath crosses a tiny gap, enters the flute, and is transformed into the music you love. The music is thus composed of you. Who can measure the abundance of truth and beauty that comes forth as sounds and colors? There was a time before Stockhausen wrote KATHINKA'S CHANT. But the essence of that music was already inside of you, and your flute had waited patiently for your breath to release this treasure to the world. Its vibrations still swirl around and into us. The sounds and colors of one memorable performance, traveling at the combined speeds of sound and light, will soon arrive in the precincts of Alpha Centauri.