Translate this website
THE MUSIC OF BEAUTY
From Divine Beauty by John O’Donohue
Music embraces the whole person. It entrances the mind and the heart and its vibrations reach and touch the entire physical body. Yet there is something deeper still in the way that music pervades us. In contrast to every other art form, it finds us out in a more immediate and total way. The inrush of intimacy in music is irresistible. It takes you before you can halt it. It is as though music reaches that subtle threshold within us where the soul dovetails with the eternal. We always seem to forget that the soul has two faces. One face is turned towards our lives; it animates and illuminates every moment of our presence. The other face is always turned towards the divine presence. Here the soul receives the Divine Smile or the Kiss of God, as Meister Eckhart might express it. Perhaps this is where the mystical depths of music issues from: that threshold where the face of the soul becomes imbued with the strange tenderness of divine illumination.
WHERE EVERYTHING IS MUSIC
by Jelaluddin Rumi (1207 – 1273)
Don’t worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn’t matter.
We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.
The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole world’s harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.
So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.
This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.
Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!
from a slow and powerful root
that we can’t see.
Stop the words now.
Open the window in the centre of your chest,
and let the spirit fly in and out.
There is a moment
In musical rehearsal
When all the players
The woodwind and brass
The strings and percussion
The entire orchestra
And there is peace
The conductor says two words
Voices cease to sing
The woodwind put down oboes and clarinets
The brass lay down trumpets and trombones
Others do the same
Because the music is over
There is no audience
There is no applause
In that moment
Yet the quiet that follows
There is a certain silence
For reflection and repose
The music is remembered
And so we contemplate
The passage of melody
Sometimes we feel sad
Because the chords
Have drifted away
Some will feel loss
Others experience relief
And others deep sadness
That moment of closure
When the conductor
THE FIDDLER OF DOONEY
W.B. Yeats (1865-1939)
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Moharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
And dance like a wave of the sea.