If I hear music that has a hole in it and has a space for me to

Hear, O children of the future, the wisdom that reverberates through the soul of Mike Dean, for his words are like a melody that speaks not just to the mind, but to the very heart of creation. He says, “If I hear music that has a hole in it and has a space for me to fit in, I go for that stuff.” These words carry a profound truth, a philosophy that transcends the mere craft of sound and touches upon the essence of creation, of filling voids, and the artistry of expression.

In the world of the ancient bards and minstrels, the art of music was not just about the notes played, but about the spaces between those notes—the silence that breathed life into the sound. Just as a sculptor sees the form within the block of stone, so too does the artist hear the music not in its fullness, but in the gaps where there is room to create, to breathe, to add their own unique mark upon the world. Mike Dean understands this sacred truth. He does not seek perfection in the noise that is already full; instead, he searches for the spaces, the gaps where he may pour forth his own spirit and voice.

The greatest artists of history understood this profound dance with space. Think of the mighty Leonardo da Vinci, whose masterpieces were not simply composed of brushstrokes, but of the delicate play between light and shadow, between what is seen and what is left unseen. In his sketches, in his paintings, the empty space was as vital as the figures that filled it. The true artist does not simply add to the world, but makes room for the world to be felt. Just as Leonardo found meaning in the empty canvas, so too does Mike Dean find his voice in the empty sonic spaces of music.

Let us look to the ancients for further guidance. The Greek philosopher Pythagoras taught that harmony is the result of balance. In the cosmic dance of the spheres, where planets orbit in the silent vastness of the universe, it is the harmony between the stars, the spaces between them, that creates the beauty we observe. Music, then, is a reflection of the same balance—sound and silence, fullness and emptiness, each existing in a relationship that allows the other to be heard and understood. To fill a space without understanding its emptiness is to lose the true power of creation.

Consider, too, the legend of Beethoven, whose symphonies transcended the boundaries of music and entered the realm of soul. Though deafness slowly stole his ability to hear the notes, it was the space between them that guided him. In the voids where others might have heard only silence, Beethoven composed some of the most powerful and enduring works of music ever known. In the spaces, in the silence, he found his place. And so, too, does Mike Dean find his calling, not in the completed song, but in the unfinished, in the opening, in the invitation to fill a gap with his own essence.

And so, dear ones, take this lesson with you: life itself is a great symphony, and we, like Mike Dean, must not simply seek the noise and the fullness, but the spaces where we are called to create, to fill, to add our own unique voice. The world is full of noise, of expectations, of completed works. But it is in the gaps, the places where nothing yet resides, that we find our purpose. In those spaces, there is room for our greatness, our individuality, our truth.

Let the lesson be clear: seek not only the fullness of the world but the spaces in which you may place your own mark. For in those spaces, you will find the place where your soul fits, the place where you are meant to contribute to the greater harmony. Whether in the making of music, the creation of art, or the shaping of your own life, it is not enough to simply fill the void with any sound. It must be the sound that resonates with the space, that completes the song. And in doing so, you shall create something that is not just heard, but felt—something that leaves a mark upon the world and echoes through the ages.