Music

My partner is a musician. I sing in the church choir (he thinks I have no sense of rhythm or tune! Grrr!). I always loved music and now I love a musician - some of my best friends are musicians - in fact, I have consistently been attracted to people who are musical. And with each of them I have shared musical memories - songs (the "our songs"), common interests in the opera, the desire to argue and discuss music theory ... long list. But sometimes music summons the past back to the future, and creates a rush of memories that are difficult to write about - but I never the less will try in this post.

Our minds associate and organize ideas, events, impressions, feelings in a giant network - much like the lanes and by-lanes of a tumultuous city. Life passes us by as we add experiences to this urban landscape. Frequent experiences evolve into busy highways and thoroughfares, as stories and memories of days gone by get lost in poorly lit lanes and dark alleyways. Every once in a while we digress, take a wrong turn and lose our way in forgotten landscapes. We meet faces and have feelings that we thought we'd forgotten - sometimes, the memories are pleasant, and sometimes they haunt us like a bad dream and we need to rush back to the light.

Within the limits of this metaphor, if there were such a thing that could trigger a "teleport" and unexpectedly transport us from the city we are building and dwell in, to a forgotten corner of the city that was - then music would indeed be it.

Last week T' played with the K' Symphony Orchestra in live concert with the Alan Parsons Project. I went to the show by myself - and was lucky to get a seat that gave me a good view of T and his Tuba bobbing up and down. As the music started, I found myself going back and forth in my cityscape. When Alan Parsons played I went back to the rock concerts from when we were in college - the alcohol, the dancing, head banging - only to be jolted back to the present whenever the KSO played - looking out for the bobbing tuba. Right through the concert I kept running in between these two worlds, that are so far removed in time and context. It was as if, the teleport function had a bug in it that had sent me into an infinite loop.

10 years have gone in between, and I have gone from the 19-20 year old closeted, unsure, uninterested student to the 30 year old professor. Then I was trying to convince myself that I loved a woman - now I love my Tuba player and share an unique friendship with the very same woman. Then I could not have imagined that now could be possible, and now I wonder how I made it from there to here. In fact, then I could barely imagine what the future held - other than some vague ideas of what was expected of me. I did smile at the thought of the alcohol at the rock concerts and the stars strewn across the inky black sky, the late lunch at the mess the morning after and of course all the people... and then I smiled at the cheery Tuba player and thought of the late dinner after the concert... and then they came back - all the people.

All the wonderful people - friends in arms. We promised to keep in touch after the last handshakes. Excepting for a precious few - the promises have been forgotten. Let me correct that: I have forgotten the promises. Its easy to reconnect - hop onto friendster, orkut. The scraps and messages that they sent me on the many internet services have stopped, after having gone unanswered for a long time. I have received news of their weddings, first born ... good news, that they have shared and spoken about, while I dismayed and moved away, and returned their joyous invitations with silence. And now that I am happy and want to share my joy - I find myself moving further away. Time will tell, but I think these promises are best left forgotten.

.. and the music played on as I traversed back and forth, trying in vain to make sense of the then and the now. Lost in my city of dreams.

Life Beyond its Trappings, or Trappings make not Life

... yet, we seem to remember life by its trappings. We create rituals that make the trappings even more elaborate - and then we write the rituals in stone. We forget why the rituals were made or what made the trappings so beautiful - but we are caught in the grip of these symbols. We find joy in them, and when we grieve, it is the trappings that make the pain more unbearable - just as it is the trappings that make memories worth remembering. In fact if it were not for the trappings, there would be no memories to recollect, no occasions to celebrate, and no losses to bemoan.

The white dress of the bride left at the alter - a pristine and beautiful reminder of all that could have been, of regret and pain, of squandered lives. The to-be bride grieves the wedding, secretly enjoys the freedom from a bad marriage, and moves on - maybe, to successful relationships - yet, the dress remains, a memory of pain. The truth remains hidden within the trappings - the memories defined by the limitations of the trappings.

But lets take the trappings out from life. We are left with a humdrum - a blur in which time flows so smoothly that it might as well be still. The sun sets and rises and seasons blend into each other. Each sunset is more beautiful and every fall distinctly vibrant. Love is celebrated in silence, in the warmth of a candle flame, excitement expressed in its flicker, and expectation in the welcoming light that shines forth from it. Every moment a unique memory, a participant in and witness to rich histories that just are - and they are beautiful simply because they just are. A beauty that is so rich that we can only assert its existence - maybe feel it in our own individual ways - but cannot entrap it in our trappings.

But then can we remember so much beauty - are our minds capable of recording each detail. When we are dying, would we be able to choose a moment to relive - or would we have no memory at all - because its just too much to remember.

Hence, we come full circle and yearn for the trappings, for the beautiful wedding gowns, the lavish feasts, the rituals ... the works that memory make, even if they are limited in what they remind us of and the expectations they bring.

Or maybe, we shouldn't make any of these trappings at all - live each moment of beauty as they come - who needs memory when each moment is worth it. And then die in peace with the knowledge of beauty, instead of yearning for the memories that lent us mere glimpses of it.

I pray that we may live and love freely, that we may be free of the rituals and trappings of life and enjoy the vibrant beauty that lies in the silence of their absence.

That we may just, be.