I Stopped the Music


So I continue on reading through the different books I’ve been given.  As I suspected I found “Proof of Heaven” by Eben Alexander a little heavy in spots. It was beautifully written and the descriptions of his experience were very detailed and rich.  I loved the quotes that Dr. Alexander used throughout, for example:

“There are only two ways to live your life.  One is as though nothing is a miracle.  The other is as if everything is.”  – Albert Einstein

“There are two ways to be fooled.  One is to believe what isn’t true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true.”  – Soren Kierkegaard

These quotes were worked into the fabric of the book, supporting the notions and premises put forward by Dr. Alexander as he recounted his own Near Death Experience.  Absolutely no one can challenge the nature of his experience, because it was his experience. That he put his credibility on the line within the medical community speaks volumes to his earnestness.  What and how he wrote was quite compelling.  In short, his story offers a pure hope for those looking for it.  On an academic level, however, I suspect it generates more questions than it answers.

Much like in the other books I have read to date, the author encourages meditation as a way to go beyond one’s physical self.  “Proof of Heaven” introduced me to the term “hemispheric synchronization” or Hemi Sync – the use of sound waves to provide a gateway for extraordinary awareness or relaxation.  I found this a beautiful irony since for my entire marriage my husband, Kevin, had literally preached to me about the role of music and sound in achieving inner peace and harmony as well as fostering creativity and joy.  Hadn’t I listened to Gregorian Chants and a Lammas Ladymass every night for the past several years because my darling husband had told me that the rhythms and tones would induce relaxation?  Wasn’t that why we got our Tibetan bowls, to use sound waves to heal?  Music was crucial to any period of creativity for Kevin, he didn’t want silence, he needed sound – when he was painting in his art room, the house would be filled with some sort of classical music or, in recent years, an opera.

On the weekend I thought about how I had stopped the music in the house.  I had done it quite deliberately actually.  It was done with full awareness, almost like a punishment, like I was punishing myself or maybe even Kevin for dying.  For the 31 years of our marriage each day, particularly weekends, would commence with some sort of music flowing through the rooms.  It was the first thing Kevin did in the morning, even before he’d turn on the kettle.  He would turn on the CD, TV, computer, stereo, record-player – whatever it was we had over the years, and the house would fill with music.  After he died I’d stopped it completely.  On Sunday I started it again and thought about how lucky I was to have had him in my life.   Where ever you are Kevin, my love for you goes on and on and on.

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