As far back as my memory reaches, I remember always enjoying listening to music. It is a matter of concentration, enjoyment, devotion, self-dissolution. What this power of music is has always been a mystery to me, for it is so fleeting, ephemeral; it usually comes from a loudspeaker. A technical apparatus produces sound waves, and listeners sink into inner landscapes. What happens there? It is vibration. In the Kenaupanischade it became clear that the intermingling of different vibrations constitutes consciousness.
Today I want to try to differentiate this somewhat. Beginning from a meditative state, the question arises of the qualitative constitution of this consciousness. In a state of intense concentration, sensory impressions from outside are reduced. It is not really possible to mute the outside world, but it is possible to concentrate in such a way that, at a first stage, sensory impressions are perceived as such, and at a second stage are ‘released’ from consciousness. It is less a phenomenological epoché, in which the existence of the outside world is placed within an epistemic bracket—that is, the question of its existence is kept open—than a withdrawal of attention. It is a detached observation: Ah, this impression is present now, or this thought comes, or that memory appears… Letting all these pass by as what they are is a first stage of meditation. In an inward beholding, it then becomes clear how consciousness constitutes itself.
Inner Spaces
A space filled with consciousness opens up. Yet this consciousness does not respond to sensory stimuli, but is pure and clear. Here the forces of consciousness reveal themselves: my body (matter), my breath (life energy/Prana), my mind (which analyzes and visualizes), the experience of existence (rapture/Annanda), pure consciousness (Chit). Within this consciousness, aware of its different planes, the Self moves freely. Here the Self (Atman) encounters the soul (Puruscha) and senses that consciousness itself, encompassing everything (Brahman), is the creator (Sat). Here the forces of our world also become visible as such: love, war, compassion, enjoyment, beauty, suffering in all their forms. They are real in our consciousness, and there is little sense in denying them. We experience them, and we name them, and we communicate and share them; we live them out and realize them. They become entirely real forces of the world, act within them. All this is indisputable. It is somewhat difficult to explain, and so science often acts as though they were epiphenomenal, mere insignificant accompaniments to physical processes. But that is not very wise, since it robs us of our own essence.
Music
I have gone into some detail here because I think this inner space has a number of anterooms, and art occupies very many of these anterooms. In music, for example, I enter an inner space created by vibrations. Within it I can move freely, for music helps me let everything that is not music pass by. In this space, then, I can undertake inner journeys; this is why we return again and again to musical spaces when we are happy or sad. We relive past experiences and process them. These are basic psychological principles. But here, too, we can climb the ladder of consciousness. Our body and our breath can be explored in dance; our mind can visualize the music, clarify its structure, bring its composition, development, and interpretation before the inner eye. But when I surrender to music in truly concentrated contemplation, as I now do best with Dhrupa by Bahauddin Dagar, then music becomes pure sensuousness (Rasa). And suddenly the question is no longer how a technical apparatus can produce sound waves capable of creating such a consciousness. This question belongs to the world of the rational mind. Music itself, then, the vibration with which my consciousness merges, opens up another space, a space of simulation, contemplation, insight, and light. Active listening to music is very close to deep meditation.
What matters to me is leaving experience its space, rather than grinding it down in reductionist contradictions. Music takes place in the anterooms of the meditative space. And this is almost identical for painting, sculpture, dance, architecture, literature, and poetry, and so on… when I engage with their core qualities. Here it has its meaning. The question of what music is has not been answered completely, but its function, its meaning, its effect are now somewhat clearer to me. It is no longer a mysterious secret, but a beautiful tool. It belongs to Saraswati.
Art, it now seems to me, is understood in India from here. And from here Ananda Coomaraswamy’s criticism of Western art as ‘retinal’ also becomes clear.
