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A CREATIVE MUSICIAN friend has the gift of chromesthesia. As he hears each note on the musical scale, he simultaneously sees it in a unique consistent color. I’ve never asked him if the colors take shape and form or vary in saturation. I never asked how he sees chords and harmonies or if a kaleidoscope of changing colors moves through his mind as the music moves through time.
Senses vary, don’t they. Some animals can pick up a scent from miles away. My piano playing disturbs our dog. He’ll nuzzle my hand and ask to go outside. Comparing sense perceptions, even within a family, can be fascinating table talk because our wide individual differences in vision, smell, taste and touch.
Time, place, and weather influence our senses too. Ask any astronaut about weightlessness. Listen to returnees from a near death experience report how differently our sense perceptions function in Heaven; people and angels communicate without speaking. Perhaps when we die, our spiritual bodies will be able hold music in our hand and examine it tactilely and visually, just as now on this earthly plane faith is the substance (a real material thing) of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. (Hebrews 1:11)
I hope so. I’m sure there’s far more to music that our limited human senses will ever see and feel on this earthly plane. I’m no musician, but it seems to me that attentiveness to one note on the piano, or to the vibration of a single violin string, or to humming a solitary tone opens the door to vast stores of yet unheard music within our DNA— or maybe inside our spirits and souls. So— most weeks I practice. Although my practicing may never lead to musical perfection, and my learning pace has slowed with aged, it bolsters me up to know that practice integrates me, the musician. Approached with a certain attitude, almost all disciplines— from dishwashing to prayer—can help organize our days, nurture our spirits, and invite the presence of God.
