Symphony of Light
September 28, 2007
Bhakti Roberto
Prof. Robitaille – ENC2305
September 26th, 2007
Descriptive Essay
I step out into the sultry night. Most evenings I walk down this country road to meditate. I let down my hair. I slip off my shoes and place them on the side of the road to return to later. Leave your box of the world at the door, please. Step inside the night… and let go.
As I meditate on God and thoughts of life, I drink in the night. The moon embroiders the trees with their Spanish moss in silver. The stars glisten. The sand warms my toes and the air is thick like velvet on my skin. Suddenly I glimpse through the trees a flash of light. Curiosity spiked, I scurry around the corner to clear the trees.
And there… out on the distant horizon loom kingdoms of clouds, rich and powerful, the color of Shyam’s monsoon skin. I gaze in wonder and then – there! The clouds seem to catch on fire, glowing golden in their bellies. No sooner does the flame race through the clouds does it snuff out.
My jaw softly drops. I witness this breathtaking spectacle again and again, and it persistently catches me by surprise. At one point I glance around, desperately searching for someone to share this with. Yet it’s just me, barefoot, loose hair, on some winding, starlit road.
So I walk a ways to find the perfect spot to settle down and watch the show. When I do, my heart quiets to take in the sweeping majesty of those clouds in the distance. They must be several miles high, billowing and dense like spools of black spun silk. What’s more, the sky opens up above me, utterly clear of the tiniest wisp of cloud, the moon smiling serenely and casting moon shadows everywhere.
As I sit there, basking in the spectacle of heat lightning off in the distance, I dig my toes into the sand and close my eyes. The air is still and silent, the chirp of crickets muted.
And then the thought comes to me, unbidden: the clouds may be flaming at this very moment, yet my eyes are closed. They’re silent – not a grumble, not a whisper. How impossible that such an overwhelming display is so silent… and if I simply close my eyes I cannot appreciate it.
My mind turns to that of a blind man. How would he experience this night? Maybe thick air, possibly clearer sounds of crickets… but never the glorious vision that I can attain by simply blinking open my eyelids. The box of my limited life closes me off from understanding.
I open my eyes… and my mind turns to that of a deaf man. How would he experience this night?
A memory comes to mind. Many years ago I watched a movie called Mr. Holland’s Opus. In the story, Mr. Holland was a high school music teacher. His life was music. And then, his wife gave birth to a deaf son. How is it possible to relate one’s inspiration in life to the very person who is dearest to you – your child – and he has no conception whatsoever of what you’re trying to convey? So was the dilemma of Mr. Holland.
One scene that struck me in the movie, however, was when Mr. Holland was trying to conjure up a way for his son to appreciate the work he does with his high school students. So he visited a school for the deaf and a teacher suggested light – flashing lights! Mr. Holland rigged up a set of colorful lights to flash in sync with the mood and rhythm of the symphony he had composed while his band played.
A symphony of light. I remember watching the expression on Mr. Holland’s son’s face – of wonder and… understanding. I believe he grasped the beauty of music through those lights.
Music is beyond sound.
So now, as I behold the kingdoms of clouds pulsating with billowing flashes of golden light, I immerse myself in the music of this symphony of light. I listen to the violins, the sitar, the mridanga drum, the bamboo flute threading its way through the chorus of timpani drums and cellos. Each flash is like a message that builds the symphony. I juxtapose the mischievous, irregular rhythm of the lightning with the still gaze of the stars and the gentle eye of the moon. How small I am! I simply watch as the gods play their games, and I am barely a pawn. I am just a grain of sand… watching.
I don’t know how long I sit there in the grass, my toes in the sand, entranced. I lose sense of time.
Deeper into the night, the symphony crescendos and then falls away, only golden winks peeping out of the kingdom here and there.
I close my eyes. If I can listen to a symphony of light, surely… surely I can behold a spectacle of sound.
All I hear is the muted crickets and the distant whish of cars.
