Why I'm not a Musician

Something drove me to thinking about beauty today. Beauty is many things. Anything powerful, as in a streak of lightening or a cheetah in pursuit. Anything taken to the extreme, like the expanse of the grand canyon, or the unreachable stars. Anything outside of our control, like the paths of insects, or the orbit of planets. Anything that astounds us, like the surprise ending to a novel, or strong moral character. If we ever can contain something, it ceases to be beautiful.

This generation has been saturated by music. We are the sound squabblers. Any artist, album or song that comes down the pipe is all too familiar. And in this, the enchantment has been broken. Who is today's virtuoso? What conductor can ensnare with the notes he composes; who can lure you in with unexpected phrases and ingenious passages that rise and fall in perfect correlation?

In time, we all will fail in this. Our greatest creative achievements will become tame. Our magnum opus will sit upon a shelf forgotten. True art, and true beauty, has no definition but this: it is not commonplace.

Then how is it the most beautiful art of all is that found where others might miss it? Subtle beauty, like a bug on a leaf or a shape in the clouds. A line in a song you've heard too many times that suddenly sparks a new meaning. "I can't do it. I've tried my best. You can do it". Something so simple but elegant even so.

Maybe the best we can do is point at God's beauty. Sure, we could compose symphonies, pull together great operas, and sing of the glory of nature. This is nothing but a golden calf, and meets our needs more than any others. Rather than compose, maybe I just need to listen.