5.15.2020 – music heard so deep

music heard so deep
That it is not heard at all
we are the music

I started listening to classicfm.com back when I was at WZZM13.com in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

My work station was located under 4 TV sets and several police and fire department radios and the noise was noisy.

I had developed a high level of concentration over the years but this was something else.

I thought back to WUOM radio when classical music was played over the radio.

I thought back to my days in Ann Arbor when I could get CBC radio from Canada.

Then I realized, I had the internet.

I searched classical music online and came up with classicfm.com

It has been my friend ever since.

I have discovered that I can move from West Michigan to Atlanta and the sound track stayed the same.

I recently discovered that I can work from home and the sound track is still the same, though maybe a bit harder to hear, so I got myself a high tech headset.

It is odd because the sound from the music can so often hit a note or strike a chord, not on an instrument, but in me.

I have to stop and listen.

Do I notice because I am looking to be rescued somehow.

The music opens the door?

Or has the memory of the music left a door in my brain propped open somewhere?

Alice Walker wrote that she felt God kind of got pissed off if we walk by the color purple and don’t notice.

This morning, from a location in the heart of London, but in my ears, I listened to the Aria Da Capo from the Goldberg Variations by Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) and it stopped my day.

I think God kind of gets pissed off if we hear this music and we don’t stop to listen.

I was not at my desk.

I was not in Atlanta.

But where was I?

Maybe Mr. TS Eliot is correct that when we hear music so deep inside us, we become the music.

Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,

In and out of time.

In and out of ourselves.

A break from this world.

A break to be somewhere else.

For a few minutes.

For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.

from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

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