7/30/2016

Grace Notes: The Universe as Sound

 
"In the beginning was the Word... Through him all things were created."  
~Gospel of John

"Om is the primordial word. All that is, was, or will be is Om." 
~Mandukya Upanishad

"Adau Bhagavan shabda rasahi: In the beginning, the Lord created 
the cosmos through a subtle stream of sound." 
~Rig Veda
Creation is sound. The universe is sound. The subtle essence of light shines in darkness as sound. Each star has a sound. Every galaxy is a resolving chord, the harmony of a trillion worlds.

The atoms of your body are chimes. Each cell of your body is a carillon. Your music vibrates into my sound-body, mine into yours. Both are intermingled with that galactic harmony, the gong of planets. Our subatomic counterpoint trembles and dances over the scale of humanity, and humanity's music co-mingles in the cosmic chorus of angels.

You are a ringing bell. Who struck you? Even from a thousand miles away, I am touched by the song of your body. Each cell of my flesh feels and recognizes your key, your rhythmic signature. The memory of you brings a blue note, a minor seventh, a raga into my inward ear.

My heart is a receiver of your elegy, and a transmitter of my own love song. Inside the ribs of every man and woman, the hollows of a well-carved instrument resonate, softly playing notes deeply personal, yet pervading the universe.

With the vibrant sound of our minds, we contribute to the harmony of All, or we grind out dissonance. The most important question we can ask at any moment is, "Do my thoughts right now create harmony on earth, or disharmony?" Harmonious thoughts expand creation, bringing light out of darkness. Cynical or hateful thoughts unravel creation and contract our energy, preventing waves of music from manifesting as light.

We are each a unique resonance of grace notes. Are you a morning or an evening raga? Are you the music of wind or rain? A brook of Spring rain murmuring in the desert? The song of melting snow high above tree line, chanting under stones? Are you the sound of moonbeams falling softly on the petals of an amaranth hibiscus, changing their color to burgundy?

The day will come, and is now here, when you will wake in the morning stunned by a symphony of blossoms, polyphony of sun and dew. The day will come, and is now here, when medicine will be music, and songs will heal us. The day will come, and is now here, when listening to vibrations of mantra, O most silent melody in the ancient brain, will dissolve the mind of war into pure love. 

The day will come, the day is here, when you long for the Beloved, O nakedness more intimate than form; you merely call the Beloved's most secret name, and the Beloved is with you, nearer than this breath!

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