All the quick notes
Mozart didn't have time to use
before he entered the cloud-boat
are falling now from the beaks
of the finches
that have gathered from the joyous summer
into the hard winter
and, like Mozart, they speak of nothing
but light and delight,
though it is true, the heavy blades of the world
are still pounding underneath.
And this is what you can do too, maybe,
if you live simply and with a lyrical heart
in the cumbered neighborhoods or even,
as Mozart sometimes managed to, in a palace,
offering tune after tune after tune,
making some hard-hearted prince
prudent and kind, just by being happy.
Time and time again I hear how music bridges hard hearts and might be considered the universal religion. Yet without cultural constraints, might the transcendent moment of listening to Mozart be the background music after a genocidal tragedy, or even bird watching a distraction for a cruel dictator? So I doubt that it is enough to offer music so others may be happy. Yet I know in my moments of unexpected joy I rush out to hold the world and give all that I can. Mary, in the midst of her poem, then offers the cultural construct for guiding our happiness over bird and Bach - live simply and with a lyrical heart - a heart that hears music in all beings.
Where do you hear music?
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