Life Is Just An Illusion Ii Poem by Julia Luber

I remember when I used to practice my flute when I was young.
Every day, religiously, but only about an hour. I never really flew
off into a world without time. I never really had impulses beyond
habits and diligence about it. I liked Classical music but I did not
feel transported to another world by it whatsoever. It was a world
I felt some control over through what dexterity and measure and
and skill I had acquired with my flute.Perhaps I was merely developing
an attitude to take music, art- seriously: as a reflection of myself in
some way. Though I was not IN LOVE with playing my flute whatsoever.
But I miss it. Though I understand why I stopped. I don't like the reasons
as to why I stopped. And I should not have. But what happens happens.
And with things like decision and timing and involvement and habituation,
and understanding this all as a course of music and sound and me executing
such imprint upon existence this way, somewhere along the way I got tricked
out of my trance in my skill, my habituation, my practice and my art. I got
tricked out of the practical dedication, and commitment. Something along the
way tricked me out of the best of myself and what I had worked so hard for:
a trance in a kind of happy enslavement to my instrument. A religious connection
through habit, practice, commitment and dedication: close to an addiction but
not so much. Perhaps that was my fatal flaw and where I missed the boat to do
the right things with my practice like go to Fountainebleu Music Academy when
I got in. Like to do what would make me stick to it. I lacked understanding of how
hard and difficult life could get. And that there might be something in life that
I'd have to feel to "kill it" about. I did not make it to the realm of an addiction.
I did not understand in anyway what addiction was. Something contaminated
me and my relationship with my flute. I know what it was but it is hard for me to bare.
Life is just an illusion-a biography of our stories amongst each other. And down to
the law of music-it becomes just an illusion of "the acts" we perform amongst
each other. I got detached from my flute in somebody's eyes who turned my
consciousness to what I looked like, and some of us get fat and look ugly sometimes:
like me. I look bad sometimes. But my flute never sounded bad. I was in the wrong
set of eyes. I was contaminated by the wrong perspective. I fell into the wrong person's
illusion. And I regret so much and know there is nothing I can fix about this illusion.