I Didn't Invent the Piano, Neither Did Schubert

Tonight my husband and I went to a piano concert. Joseph Kalichstein played selections from Beethoven and Schubert and it was phenomenal. Kalichstein's performance made me remember how much about life can be communicated in sound - and how nice it is to not have to talk (or write) about everything.

Really, the wordless version of "I married an alcoholic" might draw a bigger audience, and more tears. But aside from regretting my medium, which I am really just doing now while I write about the concert, another important--at least personally important--thought occurred to me. It has to do with what I've been writing of lately, "Letting go and letting god", releasing more of my life to a power outside and superior to myself.

I thought, Schubert did not invent the piano. He created some amazing art with it, but he was not the instrument's inventor. Joseph Kalichstein neither invented the piano, nor was he the first to discover Schubert's genius. He can expertly, really fantastically, play the piano and Schubert's work upon it, but in order for this to have happened tonight. First, the piano needed inventing, Schubert needed birthing, Kalichstein needed touring, etc. etc. All of this in order for me to be able to hear Schubert's Sonatas this evening. More plainly put, I could not have orchestrated this evening if I had tried, the whole lot of it is too complicated. Still, I benefited from some complex orchestration, spanning centuries and continents, so that I could hear, and be moved by, the piano, the music, the man playing. This is something like the pooling of human intelligence. Everything working together to create something beautiful. This is something I can believe in. Not a personal god, but a collective intelligence that is much bigger than myself and scope of knowledge. So, I have decided to give it over to Schubert's "Hungarian Melody". If life can sound as sad and hopeful, ernest and solemn as this piece, then I think we'll all be alright.