Music and Meditation

For the past few years, I’ve dabbled in meditation, usually a form called zazen, literally “seated meditation”. Sounds awfully formal, but I’ve never treated it as such. The point is to take time out of your day to stop. I started more formally, attending a weekly sitting at McGill’s chaplaincy office. I learned the posture, the technique, what to focus on and what to let go of. But what I really took away from this process what that the posture, the setting, all of that is secondary. Breathing, slowing down, not dwelling on small thoughts (and large ones) that end up controlling your emotions and actions – the moments brought about by these means aren’t any more accessible by sitting with your legs folded in absolute silence.

While I have occasionally felt, suffered under, and benefitted from profound silence, I’ve found music to be similarly empowering. The right music, that is. I’m not too proud to admit my soft spot for the top 40s as well as the occasional boy band or an 80s one-hit-wonder. Generally, though, the music that shoots straight through me is instrumental (not that lyrics like “quit playin’ games with my heart” don’t strike a chord…) and in many different genres. Classical, jazz, indie acoustic guitar. Being faced with wordless expression in any form can be striking. Some find it in art. I find it in music.

Which brings me back to the initial spark for this post. Last night, surrounded by an audience of roughly 300 rustling, sniffly Montrealers and a single Italian pianist, I meditated.

A close friend introduced me to Ludovico Einaudi a few months ago. To say that his music changed my life might be a bit extreme, but I will say that it came at the right time and has since been of great comfort. I could go on and on trying to describe his music, but you’re really better off listening to it for yourself. Words only go so far, so here’s the link to one of my favorites.

Sitting in a beautiful concert hall watching his hands float over the keys of the sleek Yamaha grand was an experience I’ll never be able to describe, but I’ll try all the same. The closest I can get with words to the impact of those first few notes, that first impossible trill, was like stepping into a bath with slightly chilly feet. At once shocking and comforting. And once you’ve slid in, you never want to leave. That same warmth radiated from his music. Before long, everything else slipped away. Those silly stressors that stack up in the day. They just melted. Everything slowed and all there was was his music. His crescendoes and pauses. Like breath rising and falling.

Feeling that ebb and flow is what it’s all about, and I’m very glad to have discovered a path other than seated meditation to that same experience.