Otherworldly (Cross Posted from MySpace Blog)

[Doug Sedgwick]

From birth we try to understand how we are to relate to this world. Some of us never master the basics of the interactions. In the most extreme cases, the people who fail to integrate completely with what the majority perceive as reality are labeled autistic or possibly schizophrenic. At the same time so very many of us are hungry to get in touch with a spiritual, magical form of reality – a place where religious miracles crop up like flowers and our basic emotions are understood and celebrated by all we encounter. The tangible evidence for the existence of such a world is ART – especially music. To some extent, the best purveyors of these creations are the very same folks who have trouble mastering the mechanics of a day-to-day existence. But to be successfully perceived by the citizens of accepted reality as an honest-to-goodness achiever (an artist) – a certain amount of basic physical skill must be acquired. A painter must learn theories of color and light. A musician must invest in the vibrations of their surroundings and determine the appropriate approach to working their instrument. An inability to live in our common, accepted reality will inhibit progress in this area. A performer well-anchored in the physical world may – through hard work – develop a refinement of muscular control that provides the most perfect of expression system for the messages of the parallel, nether world. But the fact that the mad, miraculous, unseen world of demonic laughter and Christ-like miracles is NOT also touched by the master of the physical exertions will work against the success of their creations. Looking out over the faces of the congregation as I played in a church this morning – I could sense my own voice bridging the gap between the worlds. I was letting them all know it was okay to have a little madness inside as a parallel display of my psyche wrestling with the demons of my own inner world played out in the air above our heads. This was another of those moments when I feared my own tenuous grip on our common reality was slipping. But by the fact that I was able to give myself over to the other world at the same time as I could make my left hand fingers curl into the shapes of the appropriate chords for the songs I was playing in that room at that moment calmed me into an acceptance of my condition – my place as a conduit between the worlds. I can recall encountering a severely autistic teenager in a grocery store one day. His challenges in dealing with this world caused him to vocalize strangely and to stagger clumsily through the aisles, pulling at his clothes and shuffling. I ended up in line behind his family and in between gentle exhortations from his sister to not to be so loud, he suddenly turned and looked directly at me. "Hello," I immediately whispered into the at-once familiar look in his eyes, and my smile aimed at disarmament. Seemingly emotionless, he stared back at me until his sister turned him away. In that meeting of eyes a level of understanding passed between us that nothing in this world could ever accurately represent. It was music without a sound.