The Romantic philosopher Novalis once wrote:

“Certain restraints are like the finger positions of a flute-player, who stops now this hole and now that in order to produce different sounds, but seems to be making random combinations of silent and speaking holes.”

I keep circling back to this curious, extraordinary statement.

What if our bodies were the instruments? What if the restraints of the body only seem random but are in fact the music, or the potential for music in each of us? And what if the whole of our lives were a song? Would we, at the end of the day, wish to remove any of the restraints out of which our music is made?


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