The intimate atmosphere of a small and sober church, two bass viols, one theorbe and a harpsichord. The attention is effortlessly sustained. For an afternoon, time has stopped. In the presence of music, thought withdraws, retreating with all the grace in the world and all the reverences of the time when the inspiration came to the hand of the composer *.

The musicians perform with the most impeccable concentration. None of them tries to steal the show to the others and certainly not to music itself. In the withdrawal of these authentic servants of art, the essential shines: music and mostly the being of music. Curiously, in their personal abolition, the musicians make their true presence felt more than ever. This presence breathes, it moves, and ends up filling the whole gathered church. It is one and the same presence which fills the physical and the musical space. One feels strangely vacant and full at the same time. Vacant of thoughts, projects, memories, choices and judgements; but also full of That which really fills one up. When one goes back home, the silence is still charged with the Proximity just brushed by the musicians and the audience.

If music demands silence form the listener, in return it possesses the gift of being able to give it back to him heightened with a feeling of inner wealth and plenitude. Music ennobles the gathering of the attentive listener. Why does it have the power to act upon silence? Because it is itself silence.

Music is the relief of silence, like the Himalayas and the Laurentians are the relief of the Earth. The melodies trace figures in silent space and thus reveal it. The notes always end up in silence and what is then obvious is the peace and the blessing freshly carved out by music. This is well unfolded by music to the extent that it was born from the direct inspiration of the same silence. Starting from pure blessing, music rises, whirls, turns and finally enters into the benediction. It always travels in closed loops, in return trips in which silence is the alpha and the omega. Dangerous trip actually, because so many travellers got lost in the pile of notes, never to find back their blessed place of origin.

What is the merit of the return trip? Why this display of forms, if we always come back at the origin? The whole benefit is for the attentive man, who sees the sky opening up for him, a sky he did not perceived before music had performed its figures in the free space of the sky. This is what music accomplishes: the return of the Origin in the evidence of consciousness. It is its noblest task.

What is the essence of music? That is the musical interrogation of the beautiful movie Tous les matins du monde. To his student Marin Marais, who presses him with questions and suggests him cheap answers, the austere Monsieur de Sainte-Colombe can only answer by the negative. Nothing suggested by thought is music. Nothing known can extract its profound essence. The being of music escapes from the imperialistic discourse of thought. It is neither love, nor memories of love, nor regrets, nor tears, nor joys, and certainly not the king and his court. The quest for the being of music conducts the action of that movie. It also conducts the work of any authentic musician: others are only music makers, according to Sainte-Colombe's expression. It is the same quest which constitutes the object of spiritual quest.

It is also the whole beauty and subtly of the relation between a master and his apprentice that transpires in that cinematographic work of Alain Corneau. This magnificence culminates at the end, when Marin Marin asks his old master the favour of a last lesson, and Sainte-Colombe answers without any hesitation: “Sir, may I offer a first lesson?” It takes only few seconds to appreciate beautiful music. In order to learn it correctly, it takes years. But most of the time it takes a whole life to learn how to interrogate correctly in its direction… In the same way, it takes hardly few minutes, even few seconds, to realize the Being, but how long it can be to learn to meditate correctly on it! The music master is the one who leaves his pupil directly into the being of music, while avoiding easy traps and answers, and quickly thrown words, and who then withdraws and leaves him alone with music, with himself. A spiritual master, one who has unveiled the so well kept secret of existence doesn't act differently with the truth seekers. He leaves them unexpectedly into the surprising delight of their attention gathered around Being.

Music that plays the Being is never ordinary. It doesn't beckon to the solar plexus and lower. Its notes never fall flat on the floor; they rise straight to heaven, where from they have come for our greatest delight. Like Bach's music, descended from heaven, it always returns to it; that is why it never appeals to our emotions or to our nerves as can do a music that ignore the being of music.

Successful music is music that leaves us beyond music, with a taste of tranquil inner attention so sweet to the heart, just like a successful discourse is one that leads us beyond words and beckons to gathering and joy. Sounds are nothing else than forms given to silence, or modifications of it. Without silence, there is no music. On the other hand, music puts in perspective the peace that follows by dancing around it harmoniously, that is with a symmetry capable of beckoning to silent rest.

In great music the mind gets rest. At least it has the chance! When music doesn't give us rest, at least for a while, it is because it bawls mental noise instead of singing the exquisite original silence. If the composition is not the cause, then maybe it is that the interpret doesn't succeed in totally withdrawing in front of it; he is an obstacle to it, he covers it with a presence that is too insistent or too heavy. Music that has been well composed and well played flows in a stream of uninterrupted energy. What is music well composed? It is music discovered by the composer. What is music well played? It is music that is not covered by the interpret. The being of a music discovered by the composer is then taken preciously care of by the interpret, who trusts his instrument with it and offers his person to it. But as soon as the flow is slowed down by the personality of the interpret, it doesn't lead anymore to the benediction. Ego kills music. It cast a shadow over the being of music, who then withdraws.

When one is somebody, he cannot have access to the being of music. If one becomes “a great composer”, he ceases to sojourn in the blessed place of music. When one is “a great interpret”, he cannot find back this secret Place. When one is “a great critic”, one cannot taste all the concealed joy, let alone make it appreciated by others. It is when one is nobody and when one can leave all the room to music that it unveils its truth. Actually, the true artist is the one who withdraws completely in front of his art, whether he is a composer, an interpret, a critic or just an amateur. As long as the ego of the composer, of the interpret or of the critic manifests itself only in between pieces of music, at least music is saved… I asked myself why it is that I used to be able to listen to Gregorian chant much longer than any other music, instrumental or vocal. I think it is because the monks have cultivated detachment and withdrawal so well that it reflects in the space around them.

Not only the person must remove himself in the presence of music, but music itself must do the same in the presence of silence. There always seems to be a limit for the attention; before that limit, attention was rising, but beyond it attention starts to fall, first almost unnoticed, then faster and faster. When one doesn't know when to stop, the being of music conceals itself again and the notes start to get scattered over the floor and on the walls. Music can show the direction of the being that is alive in it, but it cannot unveil it itself, at least not so long as it keeps its musical form. Man must show the same detachment when the time comes to let go his music in favor of silence than when he withdraws his person in favor of music. The fruits of this devotion are immeasurable.

Music exists for the being of music, not the opposite.

The musical discourse is the top of the wave in relation to the being of music. It is the form that oscillates and changes. The continuity of music is never found in the notes but in the being of music, which remains concealed as long as music doesn't invite silence itself to conduct. The melody doesn't reside in the written notes of a musical partition, nor in the instrument, nor in the air of the room, nor in the recording. It dwells in consciousness: that of the composer, of the interpret and of the listener.

It is the consciousness of the composer which gathers the continuity of the being of music, which conceals it in the melody and decorates it with notes, like the poet does in relation with the being of the word and poetical expression. It is still consciousness, but this time under the appearance of the listener, which perceives the being of music hidden under the harmony. Without that consciousness, there is no music. Music spilled by a tape recorder in an empty room is not music but just noise. Tautological? Maybe, but it's good to repeat it, since we usually neglect it.

Only consciousness can unveil the continuity of music, which is the being of music, because that being is nothing else than Pure Consciousness, the Being. The bottom line of music, its true soul, is neither thought, nor emotion, nor human love, nor regrets, nor anything known and threadbare. Monsieur de Sainte-Colombe could only remain quiet in front of his pupil eager to get a quick answer. The bottom line of music is the bottom line of life, which is the secret, the best kept secret. That secret is kept by music, by poetry, by life. The being of music is the being of the musician, which the being of the listener: it is the Being. From here onward what we add is the surplus which plagues the mind.

What is most beautiful in music is the being of music, which the Being. Why is it the most beautiful? Because it is the Only.

* These reflections were inspired after a delicious concert with Jordi Savall, organized by the Studio de Musique Ancienne of Montreal and held in the Erskine and American church of Montreal in January 1993.