Open Channels

We are all connected, through underground tunnels and overhead wires, through satellite signals and radio waves. We know about these physical connections, even understand some of the science, and yet many of us also believe in the less-measurable and more mystical connections between people.

All world religions emphasize prayer and meditation in some form, not only to connect individuals with the God of their belief, but also to nurture human relationships and to heal disease. A good friend of mine is a practitioner of therapeutic touch, the beneficial manipulation of energy fields in the body. We all have intuitive and serendipitous experiences that seem to be guided by invisible threads, linking us to others.

We know about all these things, or say we do. And we resist them. I do, anyway.

Yesterday, following the London subway bombings early in the morning, I found myself shutting the news out. I distanced myself from it, checking in with CNN along with the rest of the world, but not allowing myself to truly pause and reflect on it. I unconsciously minimized the fact that the attacks had taken place on a subway—a place that has deep personal resonance for me and therefore might have served as a powerful connection to the event.

On the surface of things, I was keeping in touch with what had happened. And yet I had almost instantly and completely unconsciously disassociated myself from the event. I had cut the wires, blocked the channels.

Coincidentally, the mundane aspects of my Thursday were not going well. Again and again, I had frustrating conversations with people, who, like me, seemed tense and unreceptive. I had the feeling of not being able to "get through" to them, as if our signals were unaccountably scrambled. Nor could I get through to myself either. I found it especially hard yesterday to stay connected to the generous and sane part of myself. My creative spirit, vibrant the day before, had withered. The new song I was enthusiastic about yesterday appeared flat and ridiculous.

It wasn’t until the end of the evening, when I brought myself to write a brief entry in my blog acknowledging the event and I calmed down by reading some Zen Buddhist writings, that I cautiously unlocked the dam, to let flow the river of connection between my subway and their subway, my spirit and their spirit—their terror and my own.

I woke up this morning wanting to sing on the subway again.

I won’t do that today--not because I’m afraid to travel by subway right now, but because my energy is occupied looking after children on summer holidays. (Yesterday I saw the situation as a burden, but today it seems a blessing.)

If I decided to sing in the subway today, I know a few people who might urge me not to. But to stay away—especially today—would be a mistake.

Music is a powerful force against fear.

Music strengthens the connections between people. It keeps the channels open.

We need those open channels, now more than ever.