A Galaxy of Planks

In the words of the Master, “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.” (St. Matthew, XVIII. 3.) In what precise way we should become as little children was something I often discussed with my adult students. Braver children, those who have the spirit of adventure in them, will hop on the swing, kick off and soar high up into the air. Being high up in the air is like getting a taste of infinity. Unlike our familiar physical environment, this dimension is not to be measured in a couple of meters, which is the length of the swing’s rope.

All those who are afraid, either because they were conditioned to be afraid or because during the most important years of their lives they lacked a strong arm to support them in developing their courage, will tend to measure the rope with a tape. They will shoot worried looks at the top of the rope. They will sit on the swing half disposed, making sure their toes reach the ground. They will give it a tentative push, ready to halt the swing at any time. This is because infinity is frightening, and safety is important. However, great compositions and genuine art cannot be measured with a tape, and those who are inclined to do so will be forced to stand aside and watch on idly.

Dynamism belongs to those who fly up high on their swing.

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When children listen to a short piece of music, they react to it as they might to a live snail. They examine the snail with a spirally coiled, hard and high-polished shell, a soft inside, and telescopic tentacles ending in tiny little eyes. They look at it; they touch it, smell it, and almost taste it. The more they look at a live snail, the more they will appreciate all the interesting features it has. Only a child spoiled rotten will get bored with holding, studying and experiencing a live animal. In other words, they take it in all that they can about it, the way they take in anything that holds them spellbound.

A short piece of music will fascinate them in a similar manner, simply because it is new, it is unusual, and they can do all sorts of things with it. As music reaches out, children come closer. First they study the shell, the outside view, and then they experience its warmth and its essence accessible through touching. They hold it in their hands in order to feel it move; they place it by their feet so as to make them skip; and they move it to their hip to lean with it.

It is easy to adapt to music; one can mark the rhythm with one's feet, skip and lean with the tune, turn with its turns, vary with its variables. Music starts the ball of our imagination rolling: it sets the tempo of the movement and traces out the limits of its progress. Music always shows where the movement starts out from, and also where it ends. This is how the game begins: from its initial, confused state, the movement settles into form and assumes a structure in time. Individual imagination in this case manifests itself in the originality of movements. It is a testimony of the children's reaching a certain stage of development, when they start devising the finale of their performance. In other words, they remember and anticipate the closing movement. The “finale” - its inner anticipation - is the first indication of their ability to think in music.

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The word “transformation” was invented by children. This was how they described it, when they changed - leaped, walked or jumped - into someone or something else through their dance movements.

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When they move by themselves, without direction, plan or choreography, children listen to the music differently: they do it from deep down, from the subconscious, from the bottom of their heart. They adjust to completeness, gliding along it much the same way as the air moves after a great silence has descended on the motionless sea. The ellipse of music, as well as of the movements it inspires, is embraced by the dynamism of musical transformation. Our musical metamorphoses are the common offspring of music and movement. This is where music turns into magic. Metamorphosis is magic.

Inspired music is like pure spring water. When we drink from it, or when we submerge in it, spring water fills the cells of our body and soul. It rejuvenates the cells and sets them into vibration. Through our own vibrations, we can thus resonate with the great vibrations of the Universe, with our cells reaching out and drinking in infinity. Inspired music puts words into the mouth of the taciturn; it breaths life into the lifelessness of solitude and moisturizes the dried-out cells. Spring water is imbued with light, giving rise to our vision and hearing. In addition to the sensory organs of the body, this “water” also reaches the sensory organs of the soul, putting it to work and instilling it with attentiveness, alertness and vitality. One can at best experience these forces, but never see or analyze them. Speaking an unknown language fluently, these are much more vocal qualities than consciousness is.

The body recognizes inspired music. It tries to curl up to it, submerge in it and take it in fully. Because it can feel it, sense it and demand it. It offers repose for the exhausted, solace for the sobbing. In other words, it is healing, it is therapy. It nurses the pale and faded cells back to life with moisture and light.

Yes, it exerts an influence through the body: not just through hearing, but through the entirety of the body. Our wonderful capacity, the ability to move, can facilitate it. Perhaps it is the dynamism and the invigorating force of movement that help; perhaps it is the power of breathing, the smoothness of turning silent. Our search for appropriate words to describe this phenomenon is rather futile, as it takes place in a different sphere, in the unique language of body and soul. Words are like stepping stones. This language, however, is much more reminiscent of clouds, where the rain droplets enjoy their freedom under the laws of the Universe. They move and transform. Likewise, the body can move and transform, since it has a soul and it has imagination, therefore, it also possesses freedom.

The body discovers its laws in joy and devotion, in vitality, safety and love. Everything else, including our revival through self expression and personal relations, stems from this. The body is the shell, the place and the means of our capacity to experience joy. Its rigidified and demoisturized state is an obstacle, from within which the transformation begins. When music passes through the soul, it can overcome such harshness and dryness, just as a sprightly stream runs over pebbles.  Music is a glittering water of “life” stream, which licks, washes, polishes and shapes the pebbles.