Compose This....

This weeks prompt has been a double bind, not only do I have to think of something to compose but I have to compose something about the word compose.
Whenever I think of the word compose, I think of music. Mozart, Ellington, Mitchell and such, pop into my mind at the mention of the word. Hardly ever writing. I suppose all those High school compositions have muddied the well.
I had trouble getting any inspiration from this prompt, hence the lateness of the post. Last night something did percolate into consciousness about the word and my association with it. I'll start it off with a piece of a poem by Rabindranth Tagore that I have been associating my own life with for the past several years.

The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only the wind is sighing by....

It's our Ego really that thinks that we are put here on earth for some special reason, to play some important role and we spend countless years wandering what that is and feeling inadequate because we can't figure out God's grand plan for us. It is a 'separatness' view of the Universe

If you think of a Symphony Orchestra and God being the Conductor, we all would like to be in the string section, maybe first violin. We never consider ourselves to be the guy at the back and off to the side playing the Timpani or the Triangle. You know the guy that could go out back for a sandwich before his next line of music and no one would notice. Of course if we really pay attention there is a lot of them sitting around looking like they are bored out of their tree. All the while those narcissistic violins are getting all the attention. Of course we realize that if they were all playing at once, all the time it would sound terrible and if only the first violin was allowed to play, it would get pretty bloody boring in no time. What makes the symphony beautiful and memorable is each instrument playing their part at preciously the right moment and if any note was left out it wouldn't be quite as beautiful as it is. Each part depends on the other to make it whole.

I realized last night that I no longer think of myself as stringing and unstringing my instrument, wandering what my song is; I am the song. The Universe flows out of me, it would not be the same if I never existed at all. If I made a hologram of myself and cut it in two, each half would still contain the entire image. Each snippet of film will always contain a smaller but intact version of the original image. The Universe is like this, my part in the Universe is like this. Seperateness is an illusion, we are not individual entities, but are extensions of the same fundamental something. The Religions of the East have long upheld, the world is Maya, an illusion, and although we may think we are physical beings moving through a physical world, we are really 'All There Is' the Universe is within us and flows out of us. We compose it. We are both part of it and all of it.
Namaste! Namaste!