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dexfarkin"It is always finer in the evening." The little man from Varanasi laid the sitar across his lap, plunking at the baj tar with nut brown fingers while he started the chikari drone, the rich notes hanging in the night air. It was strange to think that only a few minutes before, he'd watched the spare old man pleasuring a pair of young women, as unconcerned about the accidental viewing of himself having sex as he was about the current scrutiny of his playing.
"Is it? Something tantric then?"
"Viagra. It's not the Dark Ages, young man." He grinned toothsomely, modulating the tone of the sound at he did so, the overtunes flowing over the jawari like silk. "There's some things that science is better than folk wisdom for."
"And music?"
"Music is myth, not wisdom. Creation." The sounds pulsed with the old man's voice. "Then was not non-existence nor existence; there was no realm of air, no sky beyond it. What covered in, and where? and what gave shelter?"
Hypnotically the sitar played on, the sounds reducing the old man and the warm night on the quiet porch, building a new perception. "Was water there, unfathomed depth of water? Death was not then, nor was there aught immortal; no sign was there, the day's and night's divider."
He paused, shuddered, and the notes hung tremulously. "That One Thing, breathless, breathed by its own nature. Apart from it was nothing whatsoever. Darkness there was at first concealed in darkness this. All was indiscriminate chaos. All that existed then was void and form less."
"One thing." He touched the strings again. "One thing of itself. In myth, in music, in life; breathed by existence. Sustained by existence. Made purpose by existence."
The music stopped, suddenly. A wound in the night; void and moment in darkness. "He, the first origin of this creation, whether he formed it all or did not form it, Whose eye controls this world in highest heaven, he verily knows it, or perhaps he knows not."
"For one thing," A few small notes, edging towards a melody. "Needs only to be to be purpose; to be meaning. You might as well as what a song is for? Why love is? From what is joy?"
He began to stroke further music from the sitar, adorning what seemed a much sharper night than just a moment ago; a more exactly crafted existence. "That is where we start, young man. As Wazir Khan first told to Allauddin Khan who first told to Nikhil Banerjee who first told to me. For you, it must be, and that is all it must be. It is creation's secret."
"Is it? Something tantric then?"
"Viagra. It's not the Dark Ages, young man." He grinned toothsomely, modulating the tone of the sound at he did so, the overtunes flowing over the jawari like silk. "There's some things that science is better than folk wisdom for."
"And music?"
"Music is myth, not wisdom. Creation." The sounds pulsed with the old man's voice. "Then was not non-existence nor existence; there was no realm of air, no sky beyond it. What covered in, and where? and what gave shelter?"
Hypnotically the sitar played on, the sounds reducing the old man and the warm night on the quiet porch, building a new perception. "Was water there, unfathomed depth of water? Death was not then, nor was there aught immortal; no sign was there, the day's and night's divider."
He paused, shuddered, and the notes hung tremulously. "That One Thing, breathless, breathed by its own nature. Apart from it was nothing whatsoever. Darkness there was at first concealed in darkness this. All was indiscriminate chaos. All that existed then was void and form less."
"One thing." He touched the strings again. "One thing of itself. In myth, in music, in life; breathed by existence. Sustained by existence. Made purpose by existence."
The music stopped, suddenly. A wound in the night; void and moment in darkness. "He, the first origin of this creation, whether he formed it all or did not form it, Whose eye controls this world in highest heaven, he verily knows it, or perhaps he knows not."
"For one thing," A few small notes, edging towards a melody. "Needs only to be to be purpose; to be meaning. You might as well as what a song is for? Why love is? From what is joy?"
He began to stroke further music from the sitar, adorning what seemed a much sharper night than just a moment ago; a more exactly crafted existence. "That is where we start, young man. As Wazir Khan first told to Allauddin Khan who first told to Nikhil Banerjee who first told to me. For you, it must be, and that is all it must be. It is creation's secret."
