"Song of the Land" – June 10, 2005

2005-6-10

The Books of Fae

2005-6-10 – "Song of the Land"

"…In my intent to understand the language of music I return to the perfect pitch eartraining course and am visited by a vision of the sacred land …"

I am intent to learn the language of music, to make sense of the cacaphony of vibrational overwhelm that has been my blessing and burden, and find myself returning to the Perfect Pitch Eartraining Supercourse that I first discovered during my time in New York city years before.

The Lady of the Lake spoke to me here, her voice made from the rippling waves moving across the surface of the clear water, and while my mind was still in turbulence and chaos, I strove to hear her – to hear the colors of the vibrations that were her song.

"Ah, but Tahoe is a nexus-point." said Peter.

"A nexus?"

"Yes.  She's a place that connects places, on the touring line of many musical bands and for tourists from all over the world."

"… there was something to the idea of jam culture" said Peter.  "A unity through the music.  Many years later i'd discover that it's feeling was related to the 'Good Family' idea of the Grateful Dead and the culture it spawned."

"I've heard of them" said the deva.  "Were you a fan?"

"Not particularly.  My temperment I leaned more towards the moody grace of Pink Floyd and Tori Amos at the time, but I appreciated what the Grateful Dead represented – I could hear the tone of true heart within their music and saw it's effect on the realms."

There was a sense of grounding as I listened more carefully to the tones of music, shifting the shape of my consciousness in order to access the talent of absolute pitch that extended beyond the act of listening to the music on my headphones into a contemplation of the territories of the land herself.

It was the land.  The aina was singing, radiant with the hues of vibration itself.  Life was music, made from the very colors of consciousness.

Perhaps it was the flow of bands moving through Lake Tahoe, my work with the perfect pitch recordings or simply the seeds of my inquiry into the language of music within the mortal plane that caused it to happen, but a synthesis was happening within me, one that spoke to the language beneath the languages of Art.

It wasn't just the colors of sound that interested me, it was the way the structures of music related to that of our stories, a thing which felt like an expansion of my inquiry into the patterns of music that i'd striven to grasp in the mortal plane since my youth.

Music was vibration organized into forms, and life was made of vibrations, made from the textures of colored sound that I could perceive in the ethers.

Our timeline, I realized, was the beat of our story, which seen from another angle of itself was also our song.

We were the instruments of the Divine, each playing our part in the grand orchestra of existence itself, our perception of our own nature defined by the relative harmony and dissonance of our own tuning amidst the chaos.

Yet for all the grandeur of such vision, my difficulty with the earth plane continued, washing the recognition of the subtle architectures of life in and out of my mind in a tide of shifting selves.

Gradually I began to see it.  The patterns in the mind and the body repeated, spiraling over and over like the chorus on a broken record, and the people could not see it.  It was a labor of ignorance, and one from which I was not exempt, as my flickering viewpoint continued to move uncontrollably from the awareness of the repetitions within myself to amnesia of the same, the force of my confinement ripping the memory of memory from my mind against my will.  We were defined by music, by the repetitions upon repetitions that created our very sense of culture and community.