Another one in the series - "All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter."
The title of this post is inspired by a composition by Nadaka, a wonderful musician living in Auroville.
A crisp autumn morning.
She was standing in the kitchen in her home. Waiting for the water to boil for her tea.
Suddenly she found herself gently swaying and moving to some happy rhythm. There was no music playing. Neither on the audio system that was in the room, nor on the little CD player in the bedroom upstairs.
Yet the music was making her dance. She was not only able to hear this music but also catch its rhythm so well that her feet, her arms, her body was moving in harmony with it. It was beautiful. It was happiness. Happiness that needed no reason, that simply was, within.
As the water came to a boil and her hands busied themselves with the making of the tea and toasting two slices of the sourdough bread, she remembered. The night before in her sleep, this happiness within had first revealed itself. And this morning she was still experiencing it.
Sitting at her kitchen table and enjoying her breakfast, she kept remembering more. This time with more details, clear details. The night before while sleeping she had experienced a strange sensation, whose clear memory had lingered on in the morning. She had been reading one of the books of her Guru, and when she felt tired she simply relaxed into a silent meditation for few minutes before going to sleep. It was a relaxed and relaxing sleep, almost like a baby, on a futon on the floor in her study where she always read and meditated. And sometime during the night or early morning hours she felt an unusual sensation in her body. It was as if something was gently moving inside very slowly, sort of like something crawling inside – up from the tummy and into her head. The gentle, soft and upwardly moving sensation was very real. Her head (or was it something else inside her head – she couldn't tell) was spinning for a few seconds. Then the spinning stopped. She remembered thinking in her sleep that she should not open her eyes, that she should keep her eyes shut because if she opened them that spinning would stop, the whole sensation would go away. And she didn't want that to happen. She wanted to fully experience that experience, to be fully aware of what was happening, to witness her inner experience while sleeping on the outside.
Perhaps it was all a matter of only few seconds. But it felt much longer to her. She felt so light and happy after this experience; the feeling was as real as it can be. As if something had sort of gone free, as if some internal blockage had been set loose all by itself. And all this while she slept.
May be the music within started right when the knot had been cut lose. May be the silence of the deep sleep gave birth to the sweet music within. Music that leads one to silence.
Or perhaps she dreamt it all, and her dream was a musical one. Music that awakens one to a new dawn. Music that purifies. Music that frees one up.
As her breakfast ended she came to the conclusion that the dancing to the music within her that morning was a proof – at least for her – that she wasn't dreaming that sensation in the night. It had indeed happened. She understood that it was in fact immaterial whether it was in the form of a dream or something else. If it was a dream, it was one of those dreams that are truly real, truly concrete. After all, how could she know – how does anyone know, for that matter – what is dream and what is real? If she experienced something, it is perhaps real, perhaps true.
She was happy. She was dancing. Dancing to the music within. What more could she ask from life? What more can one ask?
Click here for the previous post in this series.