I have mentioned that I suffer from tinnitus. It manifests as white noise in the upper register and is always present but most of the time I can ignore it. It is not so annoying as to prevent me carrying on a normal life, except when my surroundings are quiet or when I want to listen to a quietly spoken voice or music. Additionally, but related, is the discomfort I feel in a noisy environment such as at meal-time or the cacophony in praise-time in church.
I enjoy listening to music (my tastes are mostly classical) and playing the piano (though not well). One effect, doubtless caused by the tinnitus, that I have recently noticed is that I am unable, or at least find it difficult, to detect the pitch of a quiet note, particularly if it is in the lower register. For example, when sight reading music I know when I have played a wrong note - unless I am playing it very quietly. And then I am at least aware of the sound but I cannot be sure that it is the right pitch. Probably this is because the volume of the tinnitus is partially obscuring the note. I like to harmonise when singing in church but, again, I can be unsure that I am singing the correct pitch.
For someone who loves listening to and making music this is kind of scary. Like, where will it end? Am I to share Beethoven's destiny (though without the musical acumen)?
Apparently this is a known effect as in this site which suggests that "tinnitus acts as something of a pitch magnet, drawing the voice or instrument to inaccurate notes."
It has been said, and is also patently obvious, that children will usually follow their parents' religious inclinations. The church our hero's parents attended was Bible based fundamentalist so he grew up knowing all the stories and believing them to be true. Thus he assumed all manner of notions on top of which were balanced precariously those of the movement he had stumbled upon, not realising how few of these were his own convictions. O foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you?
But every so often he was brought up short when hearing some proposition or seeing an action that jarred or was evident nonsense. The reader will want examples but must understand that such can often be explained away so, at best, only loosely point to the core problem.
Years previously he had remembered one of the leaders of the home church group he was then part of stating that the group was finally moving from "40 years going around the mountain" to entering the Promised Land. All hunky dory except nothing had changed - there was no such progression. Or, in his present context, it seemed that folk too easily maintained that, as they were praying, "the Lord said..." whereas his experience differed - he only longed to hear God's voice. He found that apparent answers to prayer were often promoted whilst at the same time the more numerous failures were silently discarded. An example of confirmation bias. There was the much repeated "He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it" but should anyone dare to question its realisation this side of eternity "Knowing this first, that there shall come in the last days scoffers, walking after their own lusts, And saying, Where is the promise of his coming? for since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation". And of the songs that he found himself gaily singing in church, although many were praise-worthy and the nonsense in some might be dismissed as "poetic license", a few were decidedly questionable.
There was his treatment of his parents. True, back then having given all his money to the Christian community in the North that he was then part of, and with no income, he was rarely in a position of being able to travel at all but, all the same, he could have written more often, could have cared more dearly, but rather I suppose he figured that he that loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. It may well be true that your children will surpass you in that they'll learn much more than you'll ever know, but I implore you to forever honour your father and your mother.
And so began the impossible, Psyche-like task of sorting wheat from the tares. What indeed was the truth about Christianity? Recently there have been many public debates involving creationists, atheists, theists, evolutionists, big-bang physicists where each proponent has stuck firmly to their guns but often in a distasteful and bigoted way. How can love (a central theme in Christianity) be so distasteful?
The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the robin do then, Poor thing?
A few days ago Ali and I watched the film "Miracles from Heaven" which recounts the true story of a young daughter who had a near-death experience and was later cured of an incurable disease. Undeniably things like this, though rare, do happen. Closer to home I could list my getting married at all, at all, the story of how a Thai baby became my adopted granddaughter, and the acquisition of the house we now live in as near miracles or, if to be explained by chance, one in a million. Two mature, educated adults can look at the same natural world around them and one will, with good reason, attribute it all to Darwinian evolution in which no god has a part, the other will be observing that the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse. One will claim divine creatio ex nihilo, the other that it all started with a singularity (what's that?) and brush off the question of "whatever preceded?" by claiming that such a question has no meaning. The truth is nobody knows for certain, but then there is an awful lot in that category. It seems that we humans are doomed to a finite and oh-so-restricted-an understanding of the world around us, just as a dog might adore his master but cannot attain to human thought or emotions.
But I do at least know for a certainty the turmoil that goes on in my inner being. The turmoil that identifies with that man, remembered throughout all ages since, who retorted Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.
To set the record straight I will add that the members of the community I am presently part of are loving, sincere, trustworthy good people and our lifestyle is in many respects exemplary. I have no bones to pick on that score apart from my own.
This world is not my home I'm just a passing through My treasures are laid up Somewhere beyond the blue...
It's hard to disagree with these sentiments but there are some here-and-now-treasures that I figure I will never forget even come eternity. Certain experiences like that walk along the coast from Lee Abbey, or a panorama that opens up on reaching a mountain summit, a riot of flowers, strawberries sprinkled with sugar, falling in love and its consummation, slipping naked into the sea or a mountain lake, running barefoot through grassy river meadows. And music...
If ever there was quintessential humanity it is in music. It seems that the human psyche is preconditioned to appreciate what we call music. Scientists try to understand this in terms of evolutionary advantage, which music does not seem to have. Or is it that music can in fact actually transcend mere humanity as when at the very dawn of history the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy or at that singularity of divine purpose suddenly there was with the angle a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!" Is it after all the prime medium whereby we worship so it must be capable of prising a crack in the heavenlies.
Apparently not everyone experiences frisson aka the chills when listening to music. My friend Flavia describes this feeling very well when, attending her mother's funeral, she says: the organ swelled into a song of triumph, the glorious music causing me to feel suddenly as if caterpillars were crawling up my spine. They say this frisson is the result of a dopamine release caused by the brain as it anticipates patterns it recognises in music.
Often I pass through the kitchen here and the cooks have an electronic gizmo playing Goodness Knows What through a tinny loudspeaker. IMHO and in mild disgust this muzak seems to me mere noise being used to fill a void. But then my hearing is poor. My ultra reverence for serious music does not acknowledge background "music", which foible of mine tends to restrict the amount and type I listen to.
I've always been fascinated by the aeolian harp. Although man-made to be harmonic, it is played by the wind and so, to some degree, the sound it makes is random, so can it be called music? For music it must be, in that it gives us the chills, it stirs one's heart-strings. So there we have it - music reaches into the heavens and at the same time reaches into our innermost being.
Of course I'm only talking about "good" music. But it seems that what's good for one person may be bad for another and who am I to judge? Besides, I've noticed with music, or a novel, indeed any art form - you have to go beyond the first impression in order to fully enjoy it. Good art has depth. Which reinforces the idea of anticipation. It's hard to anticipate something that is alien.
The longest running BBC Radio 4 program Desert Island Discs has been on the air since January 1942. In it the castaway gets to choose eight recordings (usually music), a book and a luxury item to take to his or her desert island in addition to the Complete Works of Shakespeare and the Bible (etc.) and, one supposes, food. A tantalizingly short excerpt of each recording is played, but the interesting part is what and why the choices. So far they haven't invited me to the program. I think I know why.
What music would you choose? I can go along with the three "absolute favourites" in this video clip and readers of this blog will know that I would add at least Bruckner's eighth. And maybe Handel's Messiah. Most of my choices would be so called "classical" but I might add some Simon and Garfunkel. Maybe even some hymn tunes for their harmony. And, talking about the Emperor concerto, I really liked Alina Berco's performance.
Music can be so rich, so perfect, so evocative, so uplifting, sublime, fantastic, almost too good to be true. Like Golden Syrup or Evaporated milk but so much better and with much longer lasting effect. I'd be sad if heaven excluded it.
Essence: (n) - the intrinsic nature or indispensable quality of something, especially something abstract, which determines its character.
I have a book on my shelf "The essence of Bruckner" by Robert Simpson. I purchased it whilst a student and it has stayed with me all this time because it is sacrosanct. But I regret I have tried hard to appreciate his analysis of the symphonies but largely failed. But then must I understand the details in order to enjoy music? Or know the recipe and underlying food science to enjoy a meal? Thus I lost his "essence" in the detail. I love being alive and nature (watching films like the Lord of the Rings I want to stop the plot and enjoy the fantastic scenery) and, for me, the essence of Bruckner's music is that it evokes all that is best in life. It doesn't need analysis. It doesn't need a plot.
The concept of, for example, "essence of vanilla" - the ability to reduce something large down to the only part that matters - has always intrigued me.
I was in a meeting recently: so called "praise" was going on all around me (I often find it too loud so that it distorts in my ears). And I thought - did I sign up for this? When all the tangibles are noise and rote I wonder - what is the essence of Christianity? Is it not "to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? To share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?" and how much of that do I do? Mind you, I'm not agin praise and worship but, for me, it is closer to the music of Bruckner than to the all-loud-volume songs accompanied by heavy drum-beat that is so common now-a-days. If, so saying, I tread on your toes then I apologise - but we are not and do not need to be all the same.
