V
The quality we bring to one small part of our life is the quality we bring to all the small parts of our life. All the small parts of our life is our life. If we are able to make one small act of quality, it will spread throughout the larger act of living. This is in the nature of a quality. A quality is ungovernable by the rules of quantity: a quality is not ruled by number. So, one small act of quality is as big as one big act of quality. An act of quality carries intention, commitment, and presence, and is never accidental. Once we have an experience of making an effort of this kind, we can apply this quality of effort in the other areas of our life. The rule is: better to be present with a bad note than absent from a good note. We practice presence by extending the care we apply to the playing of our instrument to the day-to-day affairs of ordinary life, like cleaning bathrooms, washing windows, and working in the kitchen.
If we don’t know where we’re going, we’ll probably get there. Intention must be quite clear, and capable of being simply expressed. This applies equally to small and large aims, whether a larger goal of the musician or a simple exercise. What is my aim? Which exercise will further this? How will I practice this exercise, and for how long? What is this exercise directed towards achieving? An exercise is part of our total practice, and by asking its direction we question its relevance to our larger practice. This cultivates discrimination. We move gradually towards the necessary by discarding first, the unnecessary, secondly the optional, and thirdly the useful parts—of our practice. An uncertain aim and a hesitant commitment will achieve hesitant uncertainty and certain hesitancy. My life is too short for this to be acceptable. If I am content to drift, better to have an easier life and not bother at all. But if I can define my aim, I am closer to achieving it.
How we practice is how we live our lives. If we approach our instrument in a state of anxiety and tension, the sound will suffer. So, we relax, constantly and intentionally. Relaxation is necessary tension. Unnecessary tension and we become tight, less than necessary tension and we fall over. If I am to practise, on this chair, for an hour, will my posture be able to bear me for this period of time? If not, my practising will fail.
If I am sitting, alert and relaxed, can I bring my attention to my hands? If I close my eyes, will my hands still be there? If so, how do I know? Do I have any awareness of the flow of blood in the fingers, the gentle throb of my pulse, a sense of the contact between the tips of my fingers and the strings? Is there a sufficient amount of pressure between my thumb and first finger to hold the pick? Am I able to play without looking in a mirror, or watching my hands? What happens when someone takes my mirror or the lights go off?
