fr. Plaited Like the Generations of Men

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fr. Plaited Like the Generations of Men

Come, follow me into the realm of music. Here is the gate

Which separates the earthly from the eternal.

It is not like stepping into a strange country

As we once did. We soon learn to know everything there

And nothing surprises us more. Here

Our wonderment will have no end, and yet

From the very beginning we feel at home.

At first you hear nothing, because everything sounds.

But now you begin to distinguish between them. Listen,

Each star has its rhythm and each world its beat.

The heart of each separate living thing

Beats differently, acording to its needs,

And all the beats are in harmony.

Your inner ear grows sharper. Do you hear

Your deep notes and the high notes?

They are immeasurable in space and infinite as to number.

Like ribbons, undreamt-of scales lead from one world to another,

Steadfast and eternally moved.

Hugh MacDiarmid

This is just to support my other post about music. See? There are a few who have put thought into this. "Come, follow me." "From the very beginning we feel at home." Yes, I do. Music is sometimes the only thing that keeps me in this world, and I know I am not alone in this. Sometimes music is the only thing that reaches into the dark hole where I am. Something, a mystery – a pulse, a heartbeat, rhythm – something - calls me home, recalls me to myself, drags me up from the depths from which I cannot pull myself. There is power in that. I don’t know what it is. Is it that these vibrations, these rhythms, they “lead from one world to another”? Is it that they give us a glimpse of a world where we can be truly ourselves, truly at home, fully accepted, wholly known, and yet complete, full, satisfied? I wonder. But there is no doubt about this, music runs through all of us. Animate or inanimate. No one, nothing is exempt. So we cannot easily dismiss it. Whatever it is.