Rutherford

Rutherford is a freethinking sojourner hippy that is always primed for a pot of tea and a good beat to jive with. Held down by nothing but his own physical form, he travels the world with a backpack of only essentials, except for one luxury; his precious worn copy of Søren Kierkegaard’s journal.

Life to Rutherford was all about living passionately. A shared libation to conversation, he conveyed how it was our responsibility to bring meaning into our own lives. Our experiences were to annex our substance. There really is no good or evil measured by an objective standard, just obstacles to overcome in order to refine our internal spirits. He viewed himself as a free individual with an excited lament, his proverbial angst, at struggling through life as a writer and musician.

Music lessons were out of the question. Only those who wished to kill their creativity would pull out books, mimic a tutor, be unintentionally harnessed by preconditioning. The only way to learn was to connect to the soul. Delicately leaning over his instrument he would tune his instrument. His long brown curly hair drooped over his eyes like a veil partitioning him off from the world. He fingers would pass up and down the neck placing pressure in unplanned rhythm, not for an audience, but purely, unselfishly, surrendering to the guitar until it and his soul were in harmony. Slightly less than all the time, his guitar twanged to some celestial orchestra that the physical world around him was inept and ill fit to hear. And it showed, painfully on the faces of onlookers.

“The task must be made difficult, for only the difficult inspires the noble-hearted”- Søren Kierkegaard

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