Music by itself doesn't move you. What I mean is, the order of sounds, and sometimes words, by themselves have no power. Only as keystones of a larger more meaningful pattern is that power bestowed. Sometimes music acts as the missing piece, the connection that brings the existing pattern into focus. Other times the larger pattern is understood, and the music benefits from the completed circuit, lighting up with the whole, and lighting it again when heard.
The meaninglessness of music provides the fluidity needed for perennial meaningfulness. I imagine that it might be like how the painter sees the painting while staring at the blank canvas (I am no painter, so I may be out of my depth in this comparison). Whether it's a literal white canvas sitting on the easel, or a concrete wall in some neglected place within a city, collected patterns of melodies, rhythms, and style ask us to see in certain ways, and transform the sounds and images placed upon them. The play runs in both directions.
Music can be powerful as a (mostly) blank canvas, inviting us to see our own patterns differently, hearing for the first time, unaffected by precognitions. But I dare say it is more powerful as a bridge, mediating patterns from one world, understood, to another. The Boxer stands in the clearing carrying his reminders, and we can simultaneously know Simon, and countless others, and ourselves. It makes novel sharing that which happens to us all, a thing that can so easily make us numb to one another. The Troxler's Fading of empathy, refreshing our overused sensations, making us far more capable of longer lasting wonder, compassion, and love.
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