Feeling and not feeling...

Near the end of one of the chapters in Kay Redfield Jamison's book, An Unquiet Mind, and about three-quarters of the way through, she refers to a piece of music I wanted to follow-up on:

"That night, waiting for my moody, intense Englishman to appear--needlepointing, watching the snow fall, listening to Chopin and Elgar--I suddenly was aware of how clear and poignant the music seemed, how intensely, beautifully melancholic it was to watch the snow and wait for him. I was feeling more beauty, but more real sadness as well. When he arrived...I put on Schubert's posthumous Piano Sonata in B-flat, D. 960. Its haunting, beautiful eroticism absolutely filled me with emotion and made me weep. I wept for the poignancy of all the intensity I had lost without knowing it, and I wept for the pleasure of experiencing it again. To this day, I cannot hear that piece of music without feeling surrounded by the beautiful sadness of that evening, the love I was privileged to know, and the recollection of the precarious balance that exists between sanity and subtle, dreadful muffling of the senses." (p. 163)

Here is the piece I think she was referring to (although if I have it wrong, please let me know). Perhaps you might like to stop all other doings, turn up the volume, and listen with full attention?

If you feel sad while listening or full or or thankful or joyful or you feel longing, keep breathing. Breathe fully with the feelings. Remember to breathe.