There is a comfort in music which exists in a way that is very subtle, it exists in a way that is frustratingly modest. I imagine that there are very few who can translate this sedate comfort in a way that rightfully illuminates the miracle. A penetrating sensational aesthetic so certain of itself that it allows its own virtue (facility) to be overlooked and falsely attributed to a myriad of bloated theories, tiresome science and tacky romance. To claim divinity and spiritual conduits is lazy and unoriginal. Although, I shouldn’t be too critical. It is only natural to illustrate one mystery with the aid of another. Since there really is no language elegant enough to rightfully represent the energy of music, it is only logical that we rely on the common understanding of the divine when trying to espouse the influence of music on our souls. Imagination and creativity is necessary in trying to relate ones adoration of music to others, myth is needed, because music can’t be defined in any way while staying within the confines of natural law and utilitarian vernacular. The greatest miracles are ones that appear so average as to be looked over completely. These large grandiose miracles are not of God, they are far too insecure. Divinity comes as slow and overwhelmingly as the seasons. Divinity comes unnoticed and is never forgotten, and so many times we wish we could do just that. The taste music leaves in our stomachs, whatever emotions are unpleasantly regurgitated, whatever past is unfairly revisited or joyfully recollected, there is always an undercurrent which carries us to a place where we need to be, even if just for a moment. Heartache is as comforting as joy, but one blanket is warmer than the other.