You can lie still in your room and hear room music. There exists, thus, spider music, moss music, cloud and thunderclap music, music of Gaia and music of the spheres; any or all of these are sensitive to saints and sinners. As ye are tuned, so ye shall hear.
Do not be surprised if, at the core of some such music, you find your own foggy fear, or your own loneliness. Or, at the flung edge of it, come up hopelessly lost. Gradually you learn how you yourself are a kindred one of those musics, one among many in a lavish opera. You are made of music — lonely music when you are lonely, vast music when you feel vast, even happy music sometimes. The whole stream of your life, already musical, is simply waiting for you to hear it.— W. A. Mathieu, The Musical Life