I can see that if this was an album done 10 or 15 years ago we

In the words of Wayne Coyne, leader of The Flaming Lips, we find a meditation not only on music but on the passage of time and the evolution of the human spirit: “I can see that if this was an album done 10 or 15 years ago we could see we were moving on to some place else.” These words speak of art as a mirror, reflecting both where we have been and where we are going. For every creation, every work, is not simply a song, a painting, or a book—it is a marker on the journey of life. It tells us who we were at that moment, and hints at who we might become.

Coyne’s reflection reveals the deep truth that change is constant, and that art—like life—bears witness to our evolution. When we look back upon past works, whether they be albums, writings, or choices we have made, we can see the signs of movement, the whispers of a coming transformation. He reminds us that in every act of creation there is already a seed of becoming, a signpost pointing toward the horizon of what lies ahead. Thus, an album is not only music—it is prophecy, a document of growth, an echo of the path unfolding before us.

The ancients knew this well. Consider the works of Homer, who sang of heroes and gods. His words, though born of one age, carried the Greeks into centuries of self-understanding, reminding them of their origins while pushing them toward new ideals of honor and courage. Each retelling of his epic was not a repetition, but a movement onward, reshaping culture and identity. Just as Coyne looks back at music and perceives the signs of forward motion, so too did civilizations look back upon their stories to measure their progression into the future.

History provides another example in the life of Leonardo da Vinci. His early sketches, though crude by his later standards, revealed a mind reaching beyond its present grasp. Looking back, we see in those pages the unmistakable signs that he was “moving on to some place else”—toward genius, toward discoveries that would alter the course of art and science. In this, Leonardo’s notebooks are like Coyne’s albums: they are testaments of growth, reflections of a soul that could not remain still, forever pressing toward the next horizon.

And so, Coyne’s words remind us that our lives, too, are like albums. Each season is a collection of songs—moments of joy, of struggle, of love, of loss. Looking back 10 or 15 years, we can see how we were moving toward something else, even when we did not realize it. The choices of youth, the risks taken, the failures endured—all of them were signposts leading us here. The wisdom lies not in lamenting the past, but in recognizing its role in shaping our present, and its silent whisper that we are still becoming more than we yet know.

The lesson, then, is to embrace life as a series of movements forward, each stage a song, each song a part of the greater album of the soul. Do not despise the old works, the old choices, for they were the ground upon which the next steps were built. And when you create—whether it be art, love, or labor—know that it is both a reflection of who you are and a prophecy of who you are becoming. Like the musician who records without fully knowing the future, so do we live without seeing the fullness of where our path will lead.

Practically, this means cherishing reflection without regret. Look back not to dwell, but to understand. See in your past actions the signs of movement, the growth that was already unfolding. And in your present work, put forth your best, knowing that it, too, will be one day a marker of your journey. For in this way, life becomes not a static repetition, but a glorious unfolding—a symphony that moves ever onward.

Thus, let us remember Coyne’s wisdom: we are always moving on to some place else. The albums of our lives are not final chapters, but stepping stones. Each note, each word, each act of courage or creation is a seed of the future. Embrace this journey with gratitude, and live with the faith that what you create today will carry you, and perhaps even others, toward a greater horizon.