"In-cho-ate adj. Only begun or entered upon; incipient. As when ribbons of light peer through inchoate air, before the thought of loss or love came into focus, as when the first glance of a stranger brushes over you, and, for that breath of time, you wonder if time has double-crossed you; you wonder if this could be the start of a new ending, or if this look—this probe up your spine, this eye on your leg, neck, lips, hair—could come from a ghost of someone—someone, mind you, who you thought you deserved; someone, mind you, who taught you how not to live—whose hands opens like your mouth once did while saying, with innocence, Yes. over and over again." -- A. Van Jordan
If we were a medical school, and you were here as a med student practicing appendectomies, you’d take your work very seriously because you would imagine that some night at 2 AM someone is going to waltz into your emergency room and you’re going to have to save their life. Well, my friends, someday at 8 PM someone is going to walk into your concert hall and bring you a mind that is confused, a heart that is overwhelmed, a soul that is weary. Whether they go out whole again will depend partly on how well you do your craft.
by from Karl Paulnack’s welcome address for Boston Conservatory (via darlingcup)