It´s been a while already that I’ve been wanting to write about part of my story. I have not done it before because I did not know how. I have never written a story so I have no idea if I will be able to convey in words what happened in my life. Words are a challenge for me, but I will try anyway because my soul is asking me to do it.
I lived for a while in a house in the countryside, very close to a village in the far west, those with bars called saloons with horses tethered outside, but in these times there are more bikes than horses in front of the site, and in the window it is announced that they have wifi.
Then I had a lover. Someone who did not talk much but admired me and treated me as his most precious jewel, someone who caressed me as I have never imagined to be possible. His sensitivity made brought out the best in me, causing me to feel amazed to the fullest extent of my being, as his hands showed me all the beauty that inhabits me. Delicacy and strength at the same time, subtlety and energy, in a wide range of nuances as only a great artist can demonstrate. Yes, my biggest fan was an artist.
I could continue writing without saying who I am but I just decided to say it right now. I’m a piano, a grand piano, and a very good one. Maybe some musicians have suspected that I am a musical instrument, but I´m sure, many didn´t. So, until I got here, I had not decided on the title, because if I put something like “The Piano” or “Watch out for the piano” or “My piano and I” would have made my identity more clear from the start. So I will decide for the title right now. No, it is not “right now” even though is not bad at all. It is “The Miraculous piano,” though in a while, I can change my mind and put another one more suited to the music, such as “According to Music”. When two or more notes sound together we have a chord, which in this story there will be many. ¨Acorde¨ means chord in Spanish, “acordar” means remember and in Portuguese, it means waking up. This story, my story, besides having many chords, has everything to do with remembering and waking up.
The artist of whom I´m telling you bought me new, not “like new”, but literally new. I had been in a music store for some time, where some amateur that was coming in would hit me occasionally. It is rare to call “amateurs” those who are not very experienced at something. Amateur would rather be someone who loves what he does, so for instance striking a piano does not sound very loving to say. Moreover, it sounds very bad. While I was there exposed to everything, my memory about my conception was being erased and “right now” everything seems to have been a dream.
I know I have material of the dear Earth, as it is the good wood, probably as the result of the sacrifice of a beautiful tree. I imagine that tree sheltered nests and even a house of a squirrel or some other whatever simpatico little creature. How much the environment of that tree would have changed by its being cut down! It’s hard to imagine that these animals remained homeless, and no longer grew moss or mushrooms in its shade, or that a pleasant temperature for many beings of the place could not longer be maintained.
Luckily my keys are not ivory as they were in the pianos before. I would not like to know that for me to exist, some elephant had to lose its life. This part of music is tricky, the one of musical instruments. It´s strange, this dimension where some beings have to disappear for others to emerge. I know that I have metal parts such as the pedals, what is known as the “harp”, and also the strings of different sizes and thickness to sound the different notes. Nails, washers and nuts as well. I imagine all the work of many men, working to exhaustion in different mines, to extract the diverse metals.
I also have felts made of the wool of a sheep, of who knows what part of the world, that someone had the work of shearing, another one spinning, another one dyeing with tinctures extracted from different plants. I think of that sheep being deprived of its coat, not knowing that one part of itself would end up in a piano. I have also varnish applications extracted from sea snails and some kind of plastic, as a substitute for the ivory keys.
I have curves, straight lines, angles, some empty spaces, and others dense. I’m something like the meeting of many elements of the planet, and the fact that I exist is also thanks to an incredible amount of people of different races.
I could go on detailing my body for hours, it’s so perfect! I can easily say how amazing it is because I lack ego, and I can just express what I am. I am the result of patient work and art of many people around the world, to which I am most grateful.
I continue now with my artist, my healer. One day he came to the music store, he put the bench in the distance he chose, sat down and stayed a while doing nothing. For a moment I felt it would be another of those who were beating me, but then I noticed his breathing. That instant of vacuum before his fingers, which will always stay with me, caused me a strange feeling.
He started touching me in a way that made my whole body vibrate. I feel that was the precise moment that my soul came.
Yes, I have a soul, but I did not have it before that meeting. The pianos have a part of their structure called the soul, as well as other instruments like the guitar and violin, to name a few. But in saying that at the time that he touched me my soul appeared, I mean the Soul. That is why this artist, who is my musician, is the one who woke me up forever. He is my doctor musician, as if he were a healer, because he´s precisely that, besides being a great artist. When somebody has both qualities, then we are in the presence of a special being, someone who is the very music itself.
I know he made a great sacrifice to buy me, paying lots of dues for a long time. We know that musicians, except for a few, have a rather austere life and everything they have and what they do not have, they use it to buy their instruments. They strive to have the best and sometimes insist on whatever it takes to achieve it. So you can imagine how much they love their instruments. For many, they are an extension of their being.
I remember the journey that led me to his home, which surely must have cost him a fortune. I was very protected, but anyway my skeleton was moved and I got pretty out of tune. They say it is normal that the movement and any temperature changes alter me, but I´m back in shape with a session of someone who knows what he does. My musician knows what he does, he has some tools and keys to tune me, which becomes essential when living in the countryside. There are no piano tuners in the area and to make one come from the city is a luxury that he gave himself only a few times since we lived together.
In that house I was happy, I felt special and useful. My musician played me daily, at different times of the day and the night. Sometimes people would come to visit him and he would play for them. I was also used in recordings of his compositions or the ones of musicians who came to record with him. My sound is on several albums and videos of very diverse people of around the planet. It was a great moment of my life, when I had the chance to do my best every time I was “used”.
We were getting to know each other more and more, he was finding how I liked to sound and I was understanding also what he was inviting me to do. We were becoming a single being for the music to be present. I felt I was breathing through him and the air was transformed into music that was alchemically trespassing dimensions. I understood with him the value of silence, without which music is not possible. The notes he did not play were as or more important than the ones he did play. I understood with him the value of silence, without which music is not possible.
He could play many styles including jazz, rock, samba, classical and many others, but could also leave the boxes and be “out of the way” so that the never played music would emerge. He meditated as a spiritual practice and it showed in his playing. The silence was fundamental to his music. With this, I do not mean that his music could not be even danceable, since much of it really was. When one knows the silence, it is also present in every note, there is not one without the other, but becomes integrated, and music then accesses the chance to be what it really is, inexplicable in words and multidimensional.
I feel that only someone who finds himself comfortable in the silence can really vibrate with music. When a musician can stop playing his instrument and even stop listening to music for a given time, something rearranges. Emptying becomes essential for the new to appear. One simply begins to hear otherwise, not with the ears as we know them, but through our whole being. It is as if we were one big ear, listening with every cell of the body. I´m fascinated with everything about sound and how I will not, if for music I was born! Like my musician, for that he was born to this dimension, without any doubt.
I can assume that anyone who hears this story of the love of music, cannot imagine that these two, musician and instrument, would ever be separated. But it happened, not because they wanted to, but by a very sad event that happened in their lives. I can hardly tell about it because I relive the sadness that it caused me at that time and the moments that followed it, but anyway, I will try. I will do my best to transmit it as it was, a great story.
My musician embarked on a journey across the ocean, having been invited to record with a singer who wanted him to stay at his house, where they would rehearse and record. My beloved artist was separating from his wife, with whom he did not have a healthy relationship for a long time.
Both agreed to do so and she found a boyfriend quickly, while still living in the same house. The details of this part of the story don´t matter much, but I would like you to know that going into this journey, he was heading for the unknown, guided by his own spirit and flowing in a torrent of energy that took him away from there for a while, so as to find himself. He could not be himself in that old relationship. I think he succeeded only when he was with me and music. Neither the music nor I asked him for explanations or discussed anything with him. We let him be who he really is, and for that reason the communication was harmonious, and magic happened. Every moment together was new, there was no sticky feeling of pretending to know how the other is, so everything was a surprise. How pleasant it is to live like that! I would say that is the normal way, yet it is not as almost everyone lives, if we can call it living.
He would surely take care of his belongings in some time, especially me and his recording studio, which were allegedly protected in the house that he still shared with his ex, and the new boyfriend. I remained covered and silent, in a state of contemplation. He said good bye with a sublime music that would be as food for my being, during the time that we would materially be far from each other.
His trip had setbacks and unexpected situations, but he reached his destination, although a volcano erupted in Iceland and many airports were closed because the smoke had traveled thousands of kilometers covering wide areas. It was a miracle he did not have to return home after going across the country to take the flight to Europe from New York. There, he was told that all flights had been canceled, and it could take many days before they could put him on another, as there was a lengthy waiting list because of this catastrophe. When he was already getting the idea that he should return to the Far West, and that all his dream of getting out was quickly vanishing, something unexpected happened. The person behind the airline ticket counter showed him a smile and said that a miracle had happened. Someone had called to cancel his trip, perhaps fearing that the airports in Europe will not be open for a long time, and he could take that place the next day. He slept in the airport hotel, and the plane was able to fly, cross the ocean and land in Barcelona, where the airport had opened the possibility for only a few hours. Upon arrival, his host was waiting for him, very happy.
Within two days of his stay in Barcelona, he received an email from his ex saying she needed money and had put his piano for sale, without further explanation. The piano that was his, which he had paid for with his own money, month after month, never missing a payment, and working long hours on boring projects for which he was overqualified, for the sole purpose of accessing the instrument that he deserved, was going to be sold without him being there! I know it must have been very hard for my musician hearing this horrible news. He could not do anything, he was too far away to move his piano to a safe place. What impotence he must have felt, and how great sorrow for this betrayal! He protested, pleaded, begged this woman for please do not do something so cruel to him. But it happened, the piano was stolen and sold, and the money was used on a pleasure trip of his ex and her new boyfriend. He had no chance to know who had bought it. His most precious instrument, his great love, who knows where it had gone!
The following is a myriad of events that I know and many others that I’ve imagined. Yes, now you know that pianos, at least ones like me that have Soul, we also have a great imagination. I imagined the reunion with my beloved artist every day, every hour, every minute that followed my sale. I felt, or imagined my musician desperately looking for me in his dreams every night, traveling around the world to find me.
How could he know that I had been sold for a tenth of my value to a fourth-class restaurant in town? How would he know that every night, someone who believed himself to be a musician played me without love, because he was there only to take some money home, and a free dinner in the kitchen shared with the waiters?
They never tuned me, even after I was transported there, so to the lack of love of the one who believed himself a musician, was added how detuned I felt. They put wine cups, glasses of whiskey over me and I had cigarette ashes inside my body. Also some dollar tip that had fallen inside me, without the bad musician noticing, or a slip of paper with a phone number, certainly for the supposed pianist to play in one of those parties in which one has to disguise themselves as “well-to-do” people, put on a good face, have a good attitude, play happy Birthday, or a waltz for the wedding couple, and the rest of the time be just noise in the background with worn-out melodies, while everyone screams at the same time, rather than talk, so as to hear themselves and not those who they are facing.
No one at those parties loves music for what it is, but it becomes an entertainment. These people live such a boringly lying life, that they need to be entertained to continue surviving. The tunes have to be old and known by everybody because nobody really cares about creation. Nobody wants to live in the moment, the present moment, or they no longer know how to do it because they prefer to follow the mandates of the sick society in which they act out their lying characters.
I started to feel bad, getting worse every day, and i was feeling that life was leaving me, in that awful entertainment of falsely happy drunk people, killing time until they reached the coffin. I almost had no energy left and the sadness was so deep that I could no longer sound. My soundboard was full of heartbreak, besides the dirt. I stopped serving, I stopped being a living being to become a servant, and then “something” useless.
One day, not long after they took me there, they changed the pianist for a guitarist who would obviously occupy less room than me. When they took me out of there, sure, there was room for several more tables, and that was obviously what they wanted. Most likely, later, they also took out the guitarist, and the background music would be coming directly from a radio station with the jingles included. Everything was in decline, including me. Although, to be beaten without love was preferable to the sound dying altogether.
My new destination was a deposit of old things where I was not even seen. There were old cars, refrigerators, washing machines, all rusted and unused. The only one who noticed my existence and pitied me was a cat that came over to me every day, to take its nap.
Sometimes I felt that if my cover was opened, at least that cat, perhaps, would be encouraged to wander by the keys, and in that way it would make me sound and magically, my musician would hear me and come for me. But, slowly, I was also dropping the idea that we would ever meet again, because faith was becoming more and more tenuous. For, as the saying goes, faith moves mountains, and though mountains are heavier than pianos, it was never heard that faith moves pianos. I was in that barn where nobody ever came, God knows for how long! I felt it like an eternity. The day differed a bit from the night just by some rays of light coming through holes in the roof.
One day the wind started blowing and blowing, becoming stronger, making the barn move a lot, until, in a moment, a squall tore off the roof, followed by the walls, which flew like papers on the last day of high school. You may wonder how I know that students pluck out the pages of their notebooks and throw them into the air at the end of the course, in spite of never having been a high school piano. It is because in some mysterious way, all the pianos, we are all connected to our ancestors, and if we could do well what we came to do, we would be sharing information with the community of pianos in the world. But, since we usually cannot display the beauty of our sound, except for in a few exceptions, this magical connection is lost, and each one is alone, surviving in a world where real music is a luxury for the few, mainly because the people´s ears have been covered with noise that they call music, and almost no one can distinguish garbage from beauty.
The barn where I was abandoned was at the edge of a canal in which ran a good flow of water. It was a river trapped by cement on both sides, at least in that stretch. Along with the wind and the squall that ripped the roof and walls, a strong torrential rain that began to overflow the channel quickly was added. I was terrified of disappearing in the middle of that storm, but at the same time, something happened that made it so that the fear didn´t affect me as would be expected in such a situation. I kept feeling it, but something had changed. It was because I could again feel my soul with me again. I had thought that it was not there, that it had decided to leave because my life at that warehouse was almost nonexistent, but the storm woke it, and suddenly I felt alive, feeling it again.
The water began to arrive to where the cars, refrigerators, stoves, washing machines and I were. Who knows where the cat ended up ! I never got to thank it for feeling comfortable on top of me and for giving me a little of its attention, even if it was just because it needed a little place to sleep. The stream became more and more intense until everything that was kept in the barn started to go with the river, which was no longer a little canal, but rather a great living creature that was taking everything with it, including me. What should have been moved with at least six men, was taken by the current as if it were a feather. There was a variety of objects moving in the same direction. That was a chaos but at the same time, a certain harmony emerged, perhaps, by the energy of this great cleansing that was taking place.
We seemed a strange carnival aquatic parade.Where were we going to end up? Nobody knew. What did it matter? After that period of forced stillness that put my soul asleep, this wet rebirth was not leaving any time for looking back. The past was being erased, the future was coming instantly with each millimeter, and only flowing was what was left. Surely, not only a pianist would feel very sad to see a piano in the water, knowing that it would quickly be ruined and probably would never sound like it had, or that it would be shattered into a thousand pieces if it encountered rocks or other heavy objects in its way.
I could not know what lay ahead; maybe it was my death that was very close and I should have been terrified, but I was not. Everything was like a movie whose story was being created at the moment. Besides me being the main actor, I started to feel like the writer, the person behind the camera, the sound man, the illuminator and director, all at once. As the writer, I had the ability to create the story that I wanted, but everything was happening so quickly that I had no time to think of any script at all.
As the actor, I could interpret the script, if any, according to my acting skills or also according to the lack of them. I could be a serious actor or a great comedian if the director so desired. As the director, I could direct the main actor and all the secondary actors at will. I could point out to the cameraman, the soundman, the illuminator, what to do to make the most of their talents and create a masterpiece, a classic of all time. But what a work to have to learn all these roles I had not played before, while I was going with the stream, amid cars, stoves and other vehicles that suddenly were becoming aquatic versions of themselves.
At the same time, my whole life was passing in my thoughts, every moment, since they cut the tree whose wood made me, up until that point. Everything, absolutely everything, even hidden memories, suddenly appeared. Of course, also included was the music that had emerged from my musician and me. It was sounding and sounding so much in my soul that it began to become more audible. And more and more and more …. Not that it was at a volume that would distort it, but it was sounding better and better, accompanied by the sound of the strong current and wind. There was no doubt that this music was the soundtrack of that film that could have been called “Piano River” for example, referring to the Piano Bar, where musicians often play looking for a little money. It could have also been “Gone with the river” “With music elsewhere,” “The sound of wet music¨, or many other impressive titles that can get overlooked. This space is open to suggestions of titles of this film that surely could have been a blockbuster, and who knows, one day it will.
Just as it came, the rain went away, and the sky began to be clear of clouds. The river took a few more curves and after the last one, I was left on a sandy shore. There I was stabilized by the sand, watching the current passing with the parade, and feeling the water massaging my body. I do not know how long it lasted until the water finally subsided and I was completely out of the riverbed.
I was feeling splendidly renovated, clean inside and out. I knew what the ambient humidity was, but now I knew what it was like to be completely wet. However, feeling soggy in that way was generating feelings that led me to memories of a past life or something similar.
Perhaps it was that the wood that made me had been transported in the form of logs floating in a river, as is usually done even today. It had not been uncomfortable, my journey so far, despite being so intense. Maybe it was just because for my being, floating was not new at all.
The sun quickly dried my skin and I slowly began to feel the warmth penetrating deeper. Nothing worried me, I had no ideas or thoughts, had no plans of getting out of there, nor did I feel any despair from not knowing what would become of me. Can I sound again, will someone see me and take me? I had no such questions, or any others. I had no answers, no emotions or feelings, but I felt alive again, with such a vital energy that could spread in all the surroundings, and indeed it was happening without me intending to do so. I knew that I was not dead, that I had not crossed the Great River, as some natives of the north say. I had not crossed it but I had merged with one, having no other choice but to go with the flow.
Then came the sunset, painting the sky without any style and then the most starry night I’ve ever seen. Of course it was my first night out, as nobody leaves a piano outdoors more than a few hours for an outdoor concert. I had never had that chance, as I had always been with a roof overhead. The fresh air brought feelings of all kinds, awakening senses I had never had before, or rather I had never realized that I had. The aromas coming tickled me everywhere, as if they wanted to join my body. I felt like a magnet without opposite poles, attracting subtle and refined qualities of the cosmos, from the closest to the most remotely distant.
I began to notice that one of the present stars that night was connecting with me, sending me an unknown vibration. That connection caused something like as if I were sounding without anyone playing me. It began as a unique vibration and then turning into an indescribable music, without any category that I knew. It did not sound like anything of this world, but also it sounded in me, and in this world. I also had the feeling that someone, somewhere far away on Earth, was listening to it at the same time as I was, and that that someone also felt that I was hearing the same. Why was that music coming from that particular star, and why was it connecting me with that other being who also might hear it? It is not a question that I asked myself at that time, because as I said, I had no questions. Perhaps it was for that reason that something like this was happening, because without questions or answers, I was connected to everything and not focused on something in particular.
The place where I was could be on any planet anywhere in the universe, in any dimension, on any timeline, or not. Everything was happening simultaneously, so anything could appear instantly in front of me. I did not need anyone to touch my keys to operate the mechanism that could make a musical piece emerge. It was the music itself that was manifesting because of the contact with that star. That star was not a giant fireball but it was an entrance to infinity, and the mysterious music it was sending was opening the possibility for me to feel one with everything. If I was not hearing other musics it is because that music actually contained all the music of the universe. It could unfold in infinite fractals that would take me on a tour of all creation through sound.
Suddenly, without anything happened beforehand, and without perceiving myself being transported anywhere, I found myself in an amazing theater, more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. There I was, in the middle of the stage, facing an audience in a complete silence. Such a silence that it was nothing more and nothing less than the essence of music. An audience open to receive the most sublime music anyone ever has heard before, at least through me.
How did I get there? Could it be that during my state of emptiness or completeness, someone found me and transported me in an old truck, over dirt and stone roads, with ups and downs, with curves and more curves, then put me on a train that would take me to a port, where a ship would cross the oceans to arrive at a distant place where someone was waiting for me, willing to repair me and give me to someone else, who would take me to that theatre full of friendly and kind people grateful for my presence there? Could it be that a whole long chain of similar or completely different adventures which I had lived, had appeared in my life, and that, in that state of permanent bliss which I was in, by the river, I had not been aware of experiencing and then remembering them? How many places would I have pass through, how many people would have helped to carry me, and to pack me, so as to make sure that I would not be damaged, throughout the journey to the theater?
Could it be that a flying object carrying a congregation of beings from various planets took me to visit several galaxies while fixing all my mechanism, leaving it unimaginably in even higher conditions than it had been originally? Could an albino whale have swallowed me, after having been swept by the current towards the direction of the sea, and that within that whale there lived a magician whose shaking of his beard of coral and sea salt, caused the music that sounded in me and through me to teleport me to the theater?
Could a happy child who was traveling with a parrot on his shoulder in a balloon, have seen me, and rescued me by bringing me up into the balloon? And could that happy child have started playing Bach three part inventions in my body, while traveling above the forest, and at the end of the last invention suddenly have disappeared, leaving me in that auditorium? Could a blue orangutan with magnifying glasses have come in a canoe that had been untied from a tree in front of a Yanomami community, without even realizing it, and seeing me there, could he have stopped to investigate me with curiosity? Could it be that by putting his paw on my right foot would make me vanish, and at the same time, materialize in the theater?
Or could it be that the cat sleeping on top of me in the barn suddenly opened my cover from the inside, since it had been there sheltering throughout the whole storm, and that with its sublime purring it caused my departure from the shore of the river and my appearance in front of this wonderful audience? Could it be that during the strong current one of my legs was tangled in a fishing net that had caught a little device that had fallen from the sky, and that this device was used to reduce things, and then a river mussel that was in contact with it, opened itself to remove the sand that bothered him, spitting out a tiny snail that pressed the little button of the device, converting me in a microscopic piano which was thrown by the sneeze of a marine dinosaur directly to the stage we´re talking about? Also, and why not, it could have happened that an earthquake of such a large scale that it was not possible to measure, has caused the deepest chasm imaginable, and has taken all that part of the world where I was, to somewhere else in the world.
Or could it be that a saxophonist, who traveled in the trunk of an elephant playing a cornet, accidentally triggered a time machine that was its left ear, when the elephant got frightened by a beetle climbing into its trunk?
There are so many possibilities and combinations that I feel like stopping here for a moment to be open to receive the ones coming from your imagination. So I choose to take a little break here.
Thanking for the amount of such creative and humorous possibilities that you have sent me telepathically in this brief recess, I just have to accept that what happened then was that, suddenly, I found myself living the multidimensionality of my being, or rather, being it. In that way, the music playing in me, also sounded in diverse places and times simultaneously. So being on stage at the theater, I was still by the river, as well as inside the whale and the flying object, on a train crossing the desert, on the back of an old truck, in a ship crossing the oceans…
Being in a complete state, including everything, it was no longer one or the other, but one and the other, in addition to everything else.
I, the piano, was also in the wing of a hummingbird, and the sigh of a lover, and the fragrance of herbal tea at the home of some alone old woman who knew she was wise and who also heard the music that I was telling you about before. I was where cause and effect do not exist, and just appeared on the theater stage, having come from nowhere and without traveling any distance.
Who expresses these reflections is not exactly me, but something that maybe I was once that has stayed here a little longer, or has appeared to tell you this story. Also, somehow I am that, but in another vibration, in another tuning, in other attention without tension. Yes, I know it sounds weird. But dear friends, is there anything that is not rare and mysterious? How is it that I’m not the one that is speaking while I also am? Being everything and at the same time being an individual, indivisible from everything? Words can only help to get us closer to some sort of entrance that gives us a glimpse of the vastness that covers us now and constitutes us. What a beauty, the immensity that, at the same time, becomes so small to an even more immense immensity!
So, and as every story has an ending …. Here is another statement from which instantly arises the question: is it true that they have an ending, or is it that an ending is just a means to an end?
I guess you can already guess what happened when I was in that theater with hundreds of expectant ears and hearts honoring my presence there. I know you can, but may not choose to do so because you prefer to know it from the mouth of this piano that has passed through all of it. This story does not have a particular ending with a particular purpose. It has endless, infinite endings which, at the same time, are endless beginnings. One of those infinite endings, which for some reason I choose to tell you, in a way of just saying good bye, until any time, or even till right now, is the one that follows.
There was someone in the audience, no more special than the other spectators, but at the time very special. That being who was sitting among the audience felt, suddenly, the urge to go on stage as if an experienced mountaineer, or professional acrobat. In an instant, without having bothered anybody and without any effort, he was already up there. With a sensational leap like a ballroom step of some other planet such as Venus, mixed with some kind of primal dance of one of the satellites of Jupiter, he sat on the stool, without having to adjust the height of it so that his arms were in the perfect position when he put his fingers on my keyboard. And you can imagine who this wizard was. Yes, of course you can.
Who else could it be? You know it cannot be other than the one you´re thinking about. I know you are feeling the excitement that he was, nothing more and nothing less than … Yes, the magician who was inside the whale that swallowed me, who, shaking his magical beard of coral and sea salt caused the music to teleport me to the theater. Of course, you probably suspected this since the moment I told you about the possibility of being swallowed by a whale, a long while ago in this story. This is what happens with “whiles”, one can wonder about everything, and it´s possibly because we wonder about ourselves. Somehow, intuitively, we know that we are not being who we really are and we spy on ourselves increasingly, until the truth becomes so clear that there´s no choice but to accept it.
Yes, that magician was who was going to touch me, to play me, but this time not inside a whale, but in front of an amazing audience in a theater of a heavenly earthly beauty and earthly heavenly beauty at once.
But … Or better, changing but for and, since being connected to everything just allows inclusion, this acrobat who sat in front of me was not only that wizard. That acrobat that was the magician was also the owner of that old truck that pulled me out by the river. At the same time, he was one of the beings from other planets of the spacecraft that repaired me fantastically while touring distant galaxies, and also he was all of them.
Besides, he was certainly the captain of the ship that sailed the oceans, and of course he was the old woman who listened to the same music that I did, while having her herbal tea in her own dimension, created by herself. Of course he was the hummingbird in whose left wing I flew, and the parrot in the shoulder of the happy child who played masterfully Bach in the balloon. It´s obvious that he was the happy child himself too, and that he was also actually Johann Sebastian Bach himself. In addition, he was the tiny snail that was ejected along with sand by the river mussel, which activated the powered gizmo trapped in the net that got caught in one of my legs, reducing me so much that I couldn´t be seen even by the most powerful microscope.
He was also the cat who had so often slept on me when I felt so alone and abandoned and who I wanted to thank when the stream took me. Yes, the cat!
He was each and he was all. How could it be that all those beings were the one that was putting his fingers on my keyboard, if he appeared as just one man? Or maybe the question should be: how could he not be? The universe, where everything is included and connected was in him, and also, in me.
In that state of contemplation in which I had been by the river, after having let go absolutely whatever I could have imagined being, everything became possible. Without any thought or any kind of action, an infinitely more wonderful theatre than I could have imagined, filled with the most perfect possible audience, unfolded in all directions around me. It was simply created just for my presence, by my essence in everything.
A God Piano, to put it somehow, awakened. Waking up, it is as if the theater where I was had been there all the time, and I in it. And so, the vibration of a free piano, a creator piano, sounding to the universe and sounding the universe, counteracts thousands of thousands of pianos asleep in bars, schools, warehouses, auction sites, abandoned houses, waking them up, without them even have intended to do so. Thus, the dream of separation and loneliness disappears.
And if to my awakening, my freedom that gathers me to all, we add that of my beloved musician, who also awoke to the multidimensionality of the Being, being able to be that magician and the others described in this story, as well as those who do not have appeared in my words, this reunion of both with the creative power may have triggered the miracle of the awakening of all. Awakened both of us, we confirm that we were never separated and that everything was just a dream that never happened.
Awakened musicians and instruments, real music can never be hidden, silenced, altered or forgotten, but can be heard and experienced by all forever, since we are music here and now. And we can also go with the music everywhere.
The Endless End
Mariana Ingold ©2018
Alberto Arni Bìa Truyēn Nhūng Mark Kazav
Swan-zheng-li Tobias Fonseca
M. Ingold (“altered” images taken from internet)
I don’t know the authors of some of the images I used, but I’d like to.