Make Something Beautiful

A friend took me to a concert tonight. Keep in mind that my primary purpose for going was to hang out with my friend. I'm not that into live music, believe it or not (perhaps it reminds me that I'm not performing, myself). So I didn't have particularly high hopes. Also consider that I have a bad inner ear infection and am feeling drained and generally discombobulated.

On top of that, we met for drinks, then dinner, beforehand. So just before the concert, I had copious amounts of Thai food, stuffed myself silly with chicken curry, and wanted nothing more than to curl up for a nap afterwards. Then I sat through about 2 hours of at time quirky, usually lethargic, jazz-ish ensemble music.

I never anticipated how I would feel afterwards. Everything conspired to put me to sleep. And at times, that's almost what I did. But not quite. For two hours, I lingered in that last stage of consciousness before going under, that state where I just floated like in a mineral bath. That state where I could not only hear, but also feel the music. With sleepy, lidded eyes, I could see the glow around the performers, see when it swelled or spiked. I could tap into the energy of the music itself, ride that wave along with the musicians, feel the interplay between instruments and vocalists. Their improv became just an expression of what we all felt was already there.

The leader of the band had taken the words of Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, and put them to music. Then he brought together a collection of accomplished performers he'd worked with before - trumpet, trombone, sax, reed (a little of everything), percussion, bass, cello (hottie), male and female vocals, and the composer on grand piano. Because of my state of mind and the receptivity it put me in, I felt like the words and music slipped right into my subconscious and throughout my body. What it did there, I don't know. I couldn’t even tell you what the words were. But something magical happened.

As I write this, hours later, I'm still in a mellow state of bliss. I'm wide awake, at peace for the first time in days, and I feel incredible. On top of that, the infection on my ear has gone down. I can tell because it's stopped bubbling - before, it felt like it had water in it, at the same time that the ear canal itself had swollen completely shut, impairing my hearing. Now, the water feeling has gone away and the canal is opening up.

Regardless of what's going on with the ear, the most important thing is just the feeling of beauty. I thought I would fall asleep, in fact I fought to stay awake. But I came away deeply impacted.

At one point during the concert, I wanted to cry. It occurred to me, somewhere during an ad lib duet between a vocalist and trumpet, I think, that these men, both Whitman and the composer, created something of beauty. In this harsh world, seemingly filled with angry and selfish people, they made something beautiful.

It's his gift. And it's an opportunity we all have. I thought about that on the walk home. I skipped Muni and strolled down the street instead. Back in the chaos, passing belligerent drunks, angry homeless, a few out and out crazy folk. The residual echo of the music spoke to me more in feelings than in words. And it said this: When someone frowns, smile anyway. When someone discourages, have hope anyway. When someone shuts you out, love anyway. And when the world around you is filled with ugliness and pain, make something beautiful.