Ultraholophrenia

The music of the spheres is borne of them, the spheres themselves. It is spherical, for, as it is said, like begets like. It is orbital and is perfect in form. Perhaps it is seen, as well as heard. Where shall I go to write music of the spheres? Must I not first hear it to know it? Music is filled with calls and subsequent responses, much like questions and answers. Music, to be complete, should be resolute and punctual. There must be resolution and punctuation within. Where shall I know the poetry of tone called the Music of the Spheres? There, even dissonance is resonant and beautiful, giving way to a shimmer of sound, and it is filled with peace, for there, all work for justice, and the wages of Justice is Peace.


With what shall I hearken the gods? With harp? With lyre? Or that lyrical one called the Guitar? And what shall, if it is the guitar with which I hearken those gods of which I speak, she speak? The music of the spheres, as to which they are accustomed. If music soothes even the savage breast, how much more the gods, especially if I play well my guitar. The stuff of gods is high and exalted, more than humanity can fathom. And God is feared among even them, they, the gods, for they are lesser, even if powerful.

I am Jasz.