Epiphany

He regretted his loneliness. He thrived in loneliness. Certainly a paradoxical contradiction…and these rarely have solutions. Music contributes to loneliness, doesn’t it? Or does music contribute to extroversion? Little is known about the matter. Facts and data and numbers can be collected – yet little will be known. The same can be said for most everything else on earth. How can one know what is truth and what is false? Are facts really infallible? Are facts the whole story? Obviously not, or so he proposed. He….is nameless for this account. For a name requires a soul.

To walk around without a soul can be pleasant. Pseudo-happiness to others, hatred to oneself; a hatred not truly real nor truly felt. Emotions are not relevant, because they are not real. Walk around the entire city – not a person will notice. Regardless of joy – or unhappiness perhaps; regardless of introversion or extroversion you shall remain unnoticed. What is the reason? Surely it is because you have no soul? No spirit? Little is known. Nothing is known.

To be left alone…what does it imply? No one around you; no one to comfort you? Or does it perhaps refer to material things – none of the normal ‘creature comforts’ present to satisfy the soul? Not important, he did not have a soul. He could be surrounded by a multiplicity of the most comforting human beings and feel as lonely as the poor homeless man beneath the bridge, with little more than derelict surroundings to cheer him up. Some would call it a sad state of affairs, but for him, it was merely a reality and nothing more. What can be done but face the reality?

But what is the reality?

“Reality needs no facts, no numbers, no data – it is merely what one or some have established as what is truly happening. The truth,” he thought politely to himself.

Well addressed, but…how many can agree with such a statement? The answer, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, is simple: only those without souls could ever comprehend such a statement – such a blatant disregard for “the norm”. Yet, is not having a soul also part of being in the norm; in fact, a specific perquisite for belonging to such a group? Merely thoughts.

The facts will kill you. The facts lead to only death – embrace the reality, and you shall supercede the acquiescent masses which adhere to often baseless facts. He avoided ‘facts’, and pursued the truth. A clichéd endeavor certainly; yet, he knew of no soulless individuals pursuing the emotionless, “lifeless” individuals pursuing such a truth, emotionless individuals pursuing the reality. Those who pursue truth are often surrounded by individuals who pursue the truth, or the truth which is most beneficial to their beliefs. And these beliefs are formed by what? Emotions? Indubitably. Yet fortunately for him, finally, he could put his emotionless self to work in order to find the…real truth, however redundant it may sound.

A truth beneficial to whom…nobody? For what good is the truth when it can not be implicated into one’s plans, as a boost to one’s argument – or perhaps one’s product –as an aid to advertising/marketing?

“None. Add facts, numbers, data, in order to positively affect your product. Do not be swayed by distractions, and do not include information which is irrelevant to your product, so as not to distract the viewer,” he thought.

He sat and read Charles Bukowski over a cup of bitter coffee. He played his guitar in front of his window and watched the fog roll in. He lay on the grass and watched the clouds form peculiar shapes. He walked in the woods and made fantastic observations. He surfed the internet looking up information…what can be solved? What can be proven? What is not here? He did not know, and neither did the internet. Answers would have to be found elsewhere.

He felt he’d exhausted his resources, however. People were biased and pointless. Possessed by emotion. Possessed by aesthetic and economic capitalism. Possessed by the bigotries of society. What had happened to the struggles of mankind…the plight of humanity…equality? Help the poor…feed the hungry…lost and forgotten. Trashed at the first sight of something shiny; something new or something trendy catches the eye and the important things are forgotten and left behind.

Guitar chords consoled him; piano chords consoled him. He walked home from the store, and always paused to see if the woman who lived in the house on the hill was playing her piano. She covered her window with sheer white curtains, and looked below at the passing people as she played away on her piano.

“She must have a beautiful soul, that woman”, he thought to himself as he passed her window.

But he was mistaken. She too was plagued (or perhaps gifted) with soullessness. As she looked out and saw all the happy faces and angry faces and hurt faces, she thought to herself of how often she desired to feel. What is sadness? What does it feel like to have your heart broken? What does it feel like to be overjoyed at the birth of your child? What does it feel like to be called ugly? What does it feel like, on that note, to be called beautiful? From where she sat at her window nothing could be known on the matter.

Music flowed from her fingertips – she was at least graced with that. The gift of music. The people below could not understand that. Piano chords and melodies were simply noise; not the nonsense they were used to hearing over the airwaves and in their advertisements. Residents of skid row knew the power of klaviermusik over the heart. But the pedestrians amidst the stores and the other robotic individuals in the street below her home knew nothing of its gripping power.

She was always known as a “fragile” individual. Never to be messed with, for the fear of potentially injuring her soul. However, they need not be afraid, for she was lacking in that crucial aspect of human life. So, she continued to artfully move her fingers across the keys, effortlessly gliding her digits across those black and white keys. And the melody surged forth from her baby grand, a proper baby grand, yet she knew not how to read music. For how could feeling be transcribed through parchment? With words, perhaps, but not with signs; like mathematics, like algebra. A truly ironic observation, as feeling was something which she was not accustomed to.

Perhaps, through music, this woman – a woman without a soul – felt. Felt the immense tumults of emotion through the notes which she composed. Felt the incredible and awesome power of a single feeling ripping through her at the recognition of harmony and rhythm. It was as though a broad band of extravagant color had been strewn across her glum and blah sky, this realization that she could truly feel. She paid close attention to her next tune. Yes…bent over and painfully aware at the palpitation of feeling in her heart. Not the heart which she was used to; that wretched sanguineous pump which propelled blood throughout her body, but the heart which was described by poets, those lofty writers. A heart which could love more deeply than any heart of the people which walked below. A love which could drive one even to poetry! The highest form of verbal craft. Mastered only by those who’d reached this realization that the woman was upon – this epiphany of the heart. For to compose verse after verse of fanciful language, and to be able to elicit emotion from such trivial creations, requires a true master. Similarly, to compose a musical peace – insignificant notes cast together to create magnificent masterpieces which would fill any void in the listeners heart, takes true talent. And she was gifted with this.

And so, as he searched desperately for the answer to his infinite question, he decided to walk down to the grocery store in order to be properly stocked for the evening meal. On his way down, he passed below the woman’s house. He had always heard her beautiful music playing as he made his way to the center in order to purchase whatever was needed. However, now, as he traipsed that well trodden path to the supermarket, the melodies seemed particularly beautiful. Impeccable, almost; truly making him feel – yes, feel – as though he had just felt for the first time in his life. And truly, he had. For the sound of her epiphany filled his heart and made him see that through this beautiful tonal tool, all things could be accomplished. So in this seemingly mundane movement in the direction of the store, he had acquired the truth. That this gift of music could fill the hearts of even the soulless. That this gift of music could accomplish even the daunting task of allowing the listener to perceive emotion; to feel. That this gift of music could allow the listener accomplish even the daunting task of living.