Sometimes, when I play piano, I imagine myself as a character from another universe, another timeline: a blind man who learned to play piano with his fingers and his ears but not his eyes.
I close my eyes, and begin to imagine being him.
I channel his heart into mine, evoke the magic of his fingertips into my own.
And then I play from there.
From my heart.
From my fingers.
Not my head.
My body.
And somehow, it works.
I feel music flooding through my hands, like electricity eager to spark its way out. Divine inspiration itching to make its mark.
And somehow, in a way I do not understand: what I play is astonishing. Beyond my ken. Inspired.
To play without sight is an act of faith. And from that faith, many fruits blossom.