Music and the Moment

I’ve been working with this guy, Robert, who I’ll call a spiritual mentor. Through sharing his sharp insight, he helps me to be as honest with myself as possible and to cut through the illusions and delusions that my ego sets up, often in a distorted effort to protect me. With his help, I have learned a lot and have taken some sizeable risks, faced some fears, and made some difficult choices. I am growing. My guess, however, is that he’s a bit exasperated with me at the moment. At the very least, I’ve become a bit exasperated with myself. My resistance has gotten the best of me. It’s not only this spiritual mentor but also all of the books I’ve been reading about detaching from the objects of my desires, understanding that everything I’m searching for is already within me, emptying myself through meditation etc. etc. that has provoked an erection of my walls. “But I want my desires!” I cry. “And I don’t want to give up my striving for something better. Or, the fear that drives me to strive. This is how I’ve lived for thirty-plus years. I can’t settle now. Living in the present moment feels like settling. What if I settle into it and then a better opportunity passes me by? Or someone takes advantage of my vulnerability? I can’t let my guard down. And, by the way, if everything is already within me, why don’t I feel it?” The inner protest can go on ad infinitum. In other words, my walls are up, and they are strong and tall. At least they had been. Then I started listening to some good music.

Music has always served the function of pulling me out of myself. I stop thinking about all that I wish were different in my life. Stop obsessing about where I want to go. Stop indulging in self-pity. And instead, just sit (or dance) with the present moment. What I have discovered is that for me, at this time, intellectualizing about following a spiritual path is not the way to go, especially because I am so afraid that this would mean losing my desire, passion, and intensity. Much to my surprise I have also discovered that I don’t need to intellectualize about spiritual teachings, nor do I need to understand or even agree with them. The thing is, I found the present moment (and, I think, some of what I’ve been searching for spiritually) when I was not looking or understanding or protesting. I found it while following my heart’s desire: While writing, listening to music, taking care of flowers, and talking with clients. Robert has been inviting me to appreciate and embrace what is right in front of and all around me. I’ve be screaming “No,” for all the reasons the Voice of Resistance articulated above. Yet, when I wasn’t looking I started appreciating. And it started with settling into my desire for good music.

Here is how it happened: Instead of the self-pity I’ve been know to indulge in, I sought what I needed and asked some friends and colleagues for music recommendations. I received a lot of good suggestions, and after a trip to the book store, arrived home with several new CDs. I listened to one very sexy R&B album for most of the night. “This should have come with one of those warning labels,” I mused. (I readily admit to not having the greatest sense of humor, but the fact that I was cracking jokes to myself, even bad ones, indicated a loosening up of the resistance.) The next morning I woke up and enjoyed a cup of tea as I got lost in the beauty of the bright sun, and still visible full moon, shiny over the Hartford skyline. I found myself looking forward to the day and to the opportunity to listen to other good music. I was also happily anticipating the several hours that day which I set aside for writing. I felt grateful for the beautiful space in which I work. I was appreciative of the spirit showing itself from within each person I saw in therapy that day. And on my way out to run an errand, some very friendly guy in the parking lot told me, in the most cheery and sincere way, to have a very great day. My coffee even seemed to taste better that day. “Maybe this is what Robert was talking about?” I wondered. Ironically enough, I couldn’t see it until I gave up trying. I didn’t find the secret of being-in-the-moment in a book. Nor did I find it in my own intellect. And it certainly wasn’t there in my striving or in the walls I erected. Instead, the secret was in the good music, and in everything else that followed from it.