There are periods when sound no longer feels close.
Not because it fades away, but because it stops feeling present. The melodies still arrive. The rhythms still form. But something in the connection feels thinner, quieter, less certain.
I notice it most when I sit with an idea and nothing moves. The mind is active, the tools are ready, yet the inner space remains untouched. It is not resistance. It is not lack of discipline. It is a kind of distance between intention and feeling.
In those moments, I understand how fragile creative presence can be. We often believe inspiration is something we possess, something we can access at will. But it is more honest to admit that it moves on its own rhythm. Sometimes it draws near. Sometimes it steps back.
Jung once wrote that the unconscious speaks in symbols, not commands. Creativity follows a similar path. It does not respond well to pressure. It opens when it is invited, not when it is forced. When sound feels distant, it is often because something deeper is asking for patience.
I have learned that these phases are not empty. They are formative. They teach patience. They remind me that music is not produced only through effort, but through listening. Through waiting. Through remaining attentive to what has not yet taken shape.
There is also humility in this distance. It dissolves the illusion of control. It reveals that creativity is a dialogue, not a possession. We bring discipline and attention. Something else brings life.
Over time, I have come to trust these quiet intervals. I no longer rush to escape them. I let them breathe. I let them clarify what is essential and what is noise.
And when sound returns — as it always does — it carries more depth.
More honesty.
More presence.
Because it has traveled through silence first.
The Melodic Mind 