I have taken to keeping my tablet with me (it has a really great stylus with natural writing capability) so that I can write to myself when I start getting bored. It happened again this morning - for much the same reasons as I last wrote about - so it was useful. My mind ambushed me by linking seemingly unconnected events: an overheard conversation (he said "I want to hold your hand"); how Salieri describes Mozart's uses of singular instruments to bring out an ethereal beauty (in the video above); listening to the genius of Mark Knopfler communicate a rich spectrum of emotions through the marriage of musical and lyrical phrases (try the videos below). These were suddenly transformed into metaphors for my weeks experience: a series of surprise turning points catalyzed by single words, images, or actions that caused new meaning to leap from the backdrop of daily noise.
I have been struck by how a singular addition can turn the mundane into something startling. Achieving this requires that three things come together. First, knowing the right piece to add; be it a word, a gesture or look, a brush stroke on the canvas of a situation, or a tone that elevates noise into music. Second is finding the right place to insert this into the landscape; not adding a Lego block to a jigsaw puzzle, or paint to music, but finding the right context. For a word in the wrong conversation is simply another raindrop among many that leaves everyone feeling damp. Third is timing; play a note at the wrong time and at best it will be unheard, at worst we create discord. Some people think words communicate, and that more words communicate more. Perhaps that's why we talk a lot, as if adding more words somehow adds more meaning. There are many forms of communication where this happens, yet most often what creates real impact is the transient insertion, and if we don't pay attention we might miss it altogether. Its a little bit like a painter laying down a wash colour on the canvas with the general features using broad brush strokes to create the colour tones. Then with a few bold, fine strokes a key feature is detailed ... a few discrete lines added against the wash of the backdrop and suddenly the picture's meaning is given visibility, communication has happened. Or in music. This morning I listened to a 7 piece band. They were competent, although some might say the drummer had a heavy foot and was far too wedded to his cymbals. The two rhythm guitarists laid down a rhythm that was, well, solidly rhythmic. The bass guitar had insight on the value of spaces in music. But overall it was somewhat of a wash of sound. Then, during a song sung in Xhosa, out of the blue the keyboardist played this startling, stand out, jazz-like piano line with his right hand and layered it beautifully on top of the song. Suddenly I felt the music had communicated. There is always the backdrop; the familiar, slowly changing broad-brushed themes that set out a landscape which all too quickly becomes easy to ignore. It is then the responsibility of the communicator to write the particulars of their message onto this landscape. It needs only a word, one painted line, or a musical phrase that stands out from the noise, and the task is successful. Many seem to communicate only on the level of the background wash while hiding in the aggregate of the masses because they are either too fearful, too ignorant, too unthinking, or too uncaring to create that one brush stroke, introduce the brief jazz phrase, or bring that singular addition that makes meaning of the wash of the generic and repetitive. To add the distinctive which brings meaning is not achieved through quantity, it is not even merely about quality. To add the distinctive requires us to see where an addition can shape new meaning out of a backdrop of the familiar. It saddens me that so much of what is called communication is merely another layer of wash on top of all we've already had: in todays world the masters of the distinctive are being drowned in the expanding noise of the mundane. Some may say it is my responsibility to change my attitude so that I can find a nugget of meaning in the generic wash of repeats. And so it is, and so I do; in my mind I can and do take the backdrop and add for myself new strokes of distinctiveness. But what about those who have taken on the mantle of communicators, yet spend their efforts (re)describing the backdrop? To the leaders of the church I would ask: "How are you taking people out of the landscape and teaching them to stand as pinpoints of bright distinctiveness, individuals who have a strength and depth of understanding to add that singular piece of meaning which helps us all take the next step?"
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Why?
Probably the best therapy is to express yourself. Why do you think psychiatrists make you lie on the couch and talk, while all they do is murmur "hmmm", "uhuh", or "go on"? Archives
May 2017
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