praise

Whenever I go to a concert (and I mean a proper, concert-hall, classical music sort of concert), I have to close my eyes. I'm easily distracted by the sight of glitter reflecting stage lights or someone chest-breathing. In order to hear the music, I have to stop watching and listen.

It usually works. I can feel the air warm with sound, swirling and ringing. It is So Beautiful. A group of angels here, singing to God. Sound eternal.

Sometimes, though, I peek to watch the conductor's hands. If she is a good conductor, an expressive one, I can see his hands sculpting the sound, stirring it, coaxing it forth. Guiding hands, reverent and expressive, moving and breathing with the sound. They are also a symbol, those hands. There is so much love and hard work and life in those hands. An imperfect, human vessel for something as glorious as the music it's bringing forth. Such is our life--spots of eternal beauty out of the flesh and bone.