A Quiescent Mind

This piece emerged quietly. Not from a burst of inspiration, but from a kind of stillness — a space where thoughts aren’t silenced, but softened. Where inner noise fades into the background, and you're left with a fragile kind of clarity.

The idea came to me after playing Chopin on my piano one evening. There was something in the way his melodies lingered — gentle, unresolved, deeply human — that stayed with me long after the final note. I didn’t want to imitate that feeling, but to follow it. To write something that listens as much as it speaks.

I called it A Quiescent Mind because that’s what it feels like to me: a mental landscape that isn’t empty, but calm. Thoughts still drift in and out — gently, without urgency. I tried to write music that reflects that state of mind. Music that breathes, listens, and slowly unfolds.

In Hinduism, the Quiescent Mind is described as a state of deep calm and inner stillness — a mental quiet that allows for contemplation and self-realization. It’s a tranquil clarity, free from distraction, where insight can arise and one begins to connect more fully with reality. That idea stayed with me while composing this piece.

The structure is minimal, but intentional.

There are no big gestures or dramatic shifts. Instead, it moves patiently, like a quiet walk at the edge of sleep. Harmonies rise and fall with restraint, never pushing too hard. Short, high-register string swells appear like fleeting thoughts — sharp, momentary — contrasted by flowing ostinatos that carry a sense of peace beneath.

I was careful with space. I wanted to leave room for the listener — to not fill every corner, but let the piece rest.

It’s in those spaces between notes, those slightly unresolved harmonies, where I think the real emotion lives.

I hope it gives you a moment to slow down, to breathe, and maybe recognize something familiar in its quiet.

Let me know how it lands with you.