“What’ca doing ?” 

“Shhh, praying.” 

“So you actually believe in that stuff ?” 

“Beliefs, like doubts, are born in the brain and are optional. Faith is rooted in the heart and is unwavering.” 

“Are you praying he’ll create a new melody or write some cool lyrics ?” 

“He doesn’t need me for that. He’s always tuned into his own inner musical channel. I’m just trying to coax him to let it come out.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard he’s really gifted.”

“All men are.”  

“Maybe, but you have to admit some are a lot more gifted than others. I know from personal experience. I could never carry a tune, my kids swore I couldn’t tell the difference between gray, green and brown and my own body, when I had one, flatly refused to dance to any beat. I wanted to be one of the flashy few, the dancers, singers, creators ! But instead I got stuck being one of the boring billions.” 

“Every man is gifted, each in his own way. It’s true that the artist’s offering (if he has the courage to reveal it and share it) is tangible, visible, audible, sometimes even edible. Your gift was your gentle nature. You soothed a lot of pain during your alive time.” 

“That counted ? I always thought I was supposed to do something really important and amazing like, you know, make a wave or, at least, create a buzz.”  

“The importance is never in the nature of the gift ; it’s in the act of giving. (It’s all about building bridges, but we’ll discuss that another time.) Mankind evolves through his interaction with his earthmates. The giver grows. The receiver is enriched. That is why all men are born gifted so they always have something to offer. Empathy, compassion, caring, humor are invisible, formless gifts. They can’t be framed and hung on a wall. But they have a deep impact on those at the receiving end. You are ripple makers. With a gift to one you touch many. (It’s all about how a single drop creates forever widening watery rings. But…).” 

“Yeah, I know, some other day. Do you think he’ll finally come true ? I mean he’s getting kind of old. Did you notice the graying hair ?” 

“If you are, it isn’t too late.” 

“What makes him so afraid ?” 

“His brothers, the others. He’s afraid of their opinions, their judgments. He thinks his song will be shunned and he’ll be outcast, unloved, alone.” 

“Must be pretty hard to live life hiding who you are.” 

“Alas, that is the condition of man today. It wasn’t my plan.” 

“You made a boo-boo ? Is that even possible ?” 

“A tiny bug in the brain that grew into a monster. They call it ego. I call him, Egor, my good friend, the enemy. Everything happens for a reason (but ego’s reason still eludes me). Anyway, whatever is is.” 

“I always thought the expression was : Whatever is is best.” 

“Usually. But in the case of Egor ‘is is’ is enough.” 

“Do you think he’ll answer your prayer ?”

“I have unwavering faith in my son.”

“Look, he’s holding his head in his hands. I think it’s despair.”

“Yes, but shhh, listen. Can you hear ? He’s humming his tune.” 

“It sounds kind of sad.” 

“Dear Beloved, please hear my prayer. Please press the record button and set your song sailing on YouTube, or burn a cd, or sing on the street outside of the grocery store. The universe asked me for a beautiful tune and I sent you. You have a song (which is all of your songs) that only you can sing. But it isn’t yours to keep. I gave it to your brothers. Please hear my prayer, let it out so all can hear (and by all I mean one). You don’t have to fill a stadium. You don’t have to win a Grammy. You don’t have to go viral. Just let one song come out of your mouth and travel to someone else’s ears. A bridge is made and from this bridge a drop of you dribbles into the sea of man. You create the first ring of a ripple. But how far it will go no man can ever know.”