I’M STILL REVELLING today in the echoes of Thursday’s concert with the world-class Black Dyke Band. The warmth, connection and sheer vivacious brilliance of the musicians gave the music an edge so keen that every muscle and sinew in my body was engaged in the majesty of it. The physicality, the being present, the being carried and enveloped by glorious music (Benedictus from Karl Jenkins’ The Armed Man – A Mass for Peace had me barely able to breathe) and the intense connectedness and concentration of the music-makers was fantasia for me.
At times pure delight, flooded with moving colour and spirit, I was awed by the fullness and the flow of being and blowing and breathing, and lamentation and laughter and love, and passion and praise and sorrow, and life and breath and extra-ordinary energy in the entire enterprise. The band were a lesson in what communion truly means. (“On a rare free evening we still all go out together!”) As the years have gone by I’ve come to see, to feel, to “hear” colour in music and in silence more and more intensely, notwithstanding my dependence for “ordinary” sight now on glasses.
And the glorious thought occurs to me that perhaps through the years to come, and on into eternal years, colours become ever more beautifully observable, always and everywhere just the perfectly right colour and hue for the mood and the moment; and the music more perfectly an instrument of eternal healing and restoration, perfect union and vibration, there being silence and stillness – the home and the resting place of all music – often enough, and pure enough, to be able to host unimaginable notes of delight and fantasia, world without end, to which we ascend and ascend and ascend …
I am deeply indebted to the kindest of hosts for friendship and for Thursday evening. And ever more increasingly I know myself deeply indebted to the Kindest of Hosts for the eternal Grace of Life.