The Music of Life

  I was watching the sun rise this morning, listening to the beautiful music of an Irish singer and flute player, and I thought about the power that music has.  Ben and I are both musical, (although he is much more faithful to his practicing and performing than I am!), and Eigg has an incredible music culture.  In fact, music is what brought Ben and me together, since our fated first meeting was at the 12th of June ceilidh (pronounced: kay-lee): a dance/party with both traditional and modern music and dancing that celebrates the Eigg islanders' independence day.  In 1997, the islanders bought the island from a very oppressive landlord, so Eigg now belongs to the islanders.  The yearly celebration is, therefore, filled with shared memories, happy visitors, and endless music.  That music remains a huge part of our lives during every other day of the year, as well.  Even in France this summer, Ben and I experienced the magic of music. 

  We were driving back to Ben's aunt's and uncle's house in Buze but decided to stop at a little church that Wina said had perfect acoustics.  Wina, Ben, and I walked inside after seeing that a van was parked outside with the name of some professional choral organization on the side of it.  Once inside, we found a nice couple, and Wina, (through pointing and broken French), asked the woman if she were from the organization.  We found out that she was, so Wina asked if she would sing for us.  She shyly agreed and walked to the front of the stone chapel.  She sang the most haunting tune I have ever heard in my entire life.  It was more than breathtaking.  It was music that could both give breath and take it away.  It was music as music was meant to be.  It was the spirit of music, and I witnessed music's soul.

  The chapel had been built hundreds of years ago, but the builders had known what they were doing.  The stone ceiling curved into a pointed arch that echoed in the most magnificent way.  Every inch of the building was filled with sound.  I had thought about videotaping her song, but the moment was too perfect to record.  I knew that I needed to simply be present and record that memory forever within me.

  When the singer's last note had faded, absorbed into those old stone walls for eternity, we stood in awed silence, then came to our senses and applauded and thanked her profusely.  I never meant "merci" more than at that moment in France.  I looked over at Wina and saw tears in her eyes.  I didn't blame her.  My heart, too, had been lain bare by that music, and the sounds reverberated through my entire being - raw with emotion. 

  I will never forget that pure beauty, and I will always feel so fortunate to have heard it.  Music is such an amazing, powerful entity that has lived for all of history.  As I and those stones saw in that ancient chapel in the French countryside, it continues to live agelessly in any place and at any time - even in the genorosity of a talented stranger to some oblivious travellers taking a detour.