Rondenion

I first happened upon his music a fews years back when I was still suffering from severe depression. It was a sort of very real salvation. Sad, simple and overwhelmingly beautiful, his music spoke to me in divine moments that brought me to tears, sent shivers down my spine, and once again showed me the very real beauty of the world around me. In those rare moments where music released me from my very personal hell, the experience was absolutely overwhelming, it was an excruciating ecstasy.

In his music, I could feel this man suffering in obscurity, drowning in smoky atmospheric nightclubs in the glitter-neon depths of lonely Tokyo streets, on sad rainy nights. I could feel his sadness, his struggle, and I could relate.

Music and art gave such meaning to my life back then, It's hard to look back on those days, painful as they were, without feeling torn. Proust said that the most important years in his life where those he struggled. I can certainly relate.

When you've lived a life that touches hell and heaven, it's hard to welcome stability. It feels like the excitement of life has had the volume turned down. In a way, you could say that I sometimes struggle with my lack of a struggle; that I--rather paradoxically--hurt from a lack of pain. Life is still full of the same questions, but without the accompanying anxiety telling me I'm alive. I still find myself asking: What do I want to do with my life? Where do I want to go, who do I want to be, and do I have the energy to care? It's the same thing over again, but now an unimposing cloud of listless complacency hangs over me, and so too does feeling that I have lost a part of myself.

And so, on nights like these, of late-night reflection, I once again long for wintry Stockholm nights, summers in Sur and visions of Davenport.

A1.Rondenion_-_Beginning_Of_The_Ring.mp3 by Bosconi Records