“All that is ripest and fairest in the wilderness is preserved and transmitted to us in the strain of the wood thrush. This is the only bird whose note affects me like music, affects the flow and tenor of my thought, my fancy and imagination. It lifts and exhilarates me. It is inspiring. It is a medicative draught to my soul.”
~ from Henry David Thoreau’s Journal
The world we perceive with our senses is resplendent with texture and color and form. I am in love with this tangible world—the one of weight and substance, the one I can hold and stand upon, see and touch. And yet the iridescent blue in a butterfly’s wing comes not from pigment but from the way light bounces off myriad tiny scales, one wavelength converging on another, the unseen world creating color in the perceived world. There is a pulse beneath the flesh and blood, a resonance even within the stone that cannot be explained. The alchemy of unseen interactions is at play and we humans need help in order to perceive them. Perhaps that is why music penetrates so deeply into our souls—because it is so much more than the wood of the instrument, the vibration of the strings, the touch of fingertips. A doorway through our senses into mystery, it can take us beyond everyday perception into the realm of feeling and of wonder. Cynthia Bourgeault recounts a narrative about a doctor who treated an entire monastery of monks for a baffling and debilitating illness. Months before, a new abbot had replaced the age-old practice of Gregorian chant with activities he believed served a more useful purpose. When the doctor advised them to sing again, however, the monks’ well-being returned. “Unbeknownst to all, the Gregorian chant, perfectly captured by the acoustics of the monastic chapel, was an energy directly feeding not only their souls but also their bodies.” As the old hymn says, “Since love is lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?”