...and they will be simple.

Do not go gently into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light. - Dylan Thomas.

So Mr. Energy stood up, and said in a booming voice, "I can neither be created nor destroyed.", and everybody cheered.  Here at last was immortality.

And Mr. Entropy, sitting in the back of the room whispered quietly in the noise, "That might be true, but you will run out.".

By 1812, Ludwig Von Beethoven had already lost a significant portion of his hearing.  After the death of his parents he was the sole supporter of his brothers, and in a letter written to them, comtemplated suicide.  He'd had enough.

We all know the story.  One of the world's greatest composers was deaf.  We don't really think about it much, but imagine the impact it had on his life.  The sense he relid on most, not only for his passion, but for his living, was nearly gone.

"While still in my bed, my thoughts turn towards you, my Immortal Beloved.  Now and then happy, then sad again, waiting whether fate might answer us - I can only live either wholly with you, or not at all..." - L. Beethoven.

It is now believed that the identity of his Immortal Beloved is known, and if you've seen the film with that same title...well...that's not her.  Great for the dramatic purposes of storytelling, but WAY off.  It's kind of a disservice to the truth, but it's still a pretty okay film.

Beethoven died in 1827.  Fifteen years after the letter to his brothers, and the three letters to his Immortal Beloved.  He never married, and he died alone.  I mean sure, we all die alone, but he died aloner than most.  20000, yes that's right...TWENTY THOUSAND people attended his funeral.  He lived a life of solitude.  He alienated most people he knew.  He was not a pleasant person to be around.  Often ill.  Always a perfectionist, and incredibly self conscious.  He stopped performing publicly after an embarrasing incident attempting to perform one of his own pieces for a Duke.  He couldn't hear his own music, and muffed it up pretty bad.  After that...never again.  He relied solely on commission.

In 1824, and the premier of his Ninth and final symphony, he went up on stage.  The orchestra had previously been informed that he may attempt to conduct, and if he did to simply ignore him.  They did.  They followed the conductor that was...you know...actually the conductor.  When they finished, Beethoven, who was by this point entirely deaf, was pages behind them and still flapping his arms up on the stage.  Yup.  That really happened.

This man knew sorrow.  He knew isolation.  More than most.
He also knew passion.  And desire.  And...
well...
Love.

It is known that the love he had for his Immortal Beloved was in fact reciprocated.  Despite his flaws, there was another person on the planet who loved him back.  As much as he loved her.  Not for his fame, or his ability.  She simply loved the man.
Circumstance would deny them forever, and he threw himself into his music.  It was his tragedy, and his salvation.
It would be for the benefit of the world.

Shakespeare couldn't have made this a better story.
Or more heartbreaking.

There is a rest of the story.
So L. is up on stage flapping his arms.  The Ninth Symphony...heard by everyone but the man who created it, is over.  He doesn't even know.

The Conductor gently grabs him by the shoulders and turns him around on the stage...so that...
so...
So he could see an opera house.  Full.  Of people standing.  Cheering.  Waving their handkerchiefs at him.  Applauding.  Crying.

And L. wept.

Here's the thing.  I don't know if he wept because of the joy of accomplishment.  Fulfilment.  Joy.  Or if he wept because although he knew the piece.  He never....not once in his life...actually got to hear it.
Nobody ever said WHY he wept.
Only that he did.

Now I know most of my readers are pretty smart folks.  Many, if not all of you probably knew all of this stuff already.  And if you did...awesome.  If not...and even if you did...then...let that all sink in for a minute.
Please.

This man knew heartbreak.  At one point in his life he was ready to end it all.  He was wrapped forever in the love of a woman he would never have.  He was a deaf musician.  Think about that. A. Deaf....DEAF...musician.  He was perpetually alone with only his thoughts and his heartbreak.  He was forced to communicate through written word in a notebook he carried around with him.  He was a genius certainly, but chained by circumstance, and still.

Still...

He gave us so much.  Moonlight Sonata.  Fur Elise.  Eroica.  Allegretta.  Music that three hundred years later we hear.  We recognize.  We are moved.  It is music embedded in our very souls.

And of course, his magnum opus.  The Ninth.  The fourth movement has words that are sung.  In symphony we call this Choral.  This was a first for him.  A first for any symphony really.  For the Choral he took the words of a popular poem...altered them slightly to fit the music.  We call the fourth movement of the Ninth Symphony now, by the name of that poem.

So here's this man.  This desparate man, who lived a life of physical and emotional agony.  A constant longing for things he could never possibly have.  He lived, and died alone.  And this man, for his final piece, gave us...

Ode to Joy

I know I put that up on my FB wall.  I'm leaving it here as well.  This five and a half minute piece of music, that has survived centuries, still excites a pure celebration of life.  A fucking ODE...to goddamn JOY.  This fucking man, who had lost his war, before it even began...who had every reason to hate.  To despair.  Every. Mother. Fucking reason to pack it in...

Gave us that.

There is nothing we can't do.  There is no reason not to do it.
Our celebration is now.
Entropy will win in the end.  It will.
We will all be gone.
I think if we truly understood what that means, we would...
I don't know...
Do it.
Do it NOW.
Live MORE.
Love HARDER.
Hold TIGHTER.
Dance FREER.
Hold hands, sing loud, smile often, have sex, eat donuts, swim in the ocean, jump in a puddle, wish on stars, tickle a baby, pet a kitten, write a poem, share a thought, don't hold back.
don't hold back.
Don't you dare fucking hold back.
If you are lucky enough to be with the person you love, you better goddamn let them know that every fucking chance you get.
If there is someone you want to love, but just aren't sure, you better goddamn let them know that every fucking chance you get.
Whatever you have to say...say it.
Whatever you have to sing...sing it.
Create.
Create.
Create.

There is not a single second of this life that you get a do over.
So get out there and make mistakes.
And recognize now.
Now is your only now.

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time. The ones who never yawn, or say a commonplace thing but burn burn burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars."  -Jack Kerouac.