The Hidden Lifesong

By Chrissy Zschomler

-

I was born into the musical kingdom.

My parents made me play every morning after waking up and every night before I went to bed. Piano and singing were the two elements they focused on, separately and together. They told me that these two elements would be the thriving factors on which I would learn many other musical techniques and instruments. They explained to me often that I would learn many instruments one day, such as they had, and I would even get to play in an orchestra or band. They would encourage me as we went through robotic scales on the piano, day after day, that what I was learning then would branch off into many more beautiful aspects of the musical world. When I was old enough, I would find my place and role in the kingdom we lived in. Every citizen of our kingdom played a multitude of instruments well, but primarily focused on one instrument they played the best. This was our language.

At the age of 12 my parents took me to my first symphony orchestra, an orchestra they were a part of. They seemed so excited as we drove up to the huge arena, parked, and walked almost a mile across the parking lot into the concert hall. They walked me to my seat and told me they would come get me after the show, and that I just needed to wait right there. They challenged me to watch closely and pay attention.

Once they had left to enter backstage, I sat quietly, taking in the arena around me. There were so many seats, so many chairs; but they were so empty right now. I pictured the crowds chanting and throwing their hands up in response to the music they had heard. Music was so emotional, something I developed within playing outside of my parents' instructive lessons. I didn't feel the passion when I was playing scales. I remember a feeling come upon me at the age of 9, strumming the first guitar chords I had ever played (I taught myself guitar, without my parents' knowing. They generally knew how to play guitar, but preferred to focus on piano while I was still young. They thought guitar was "too advanced"- not precise enough to teach, really- therefore, not constructive enough to learn). I was playing outside on my front lawn. It was the beginning of fall. As I played my first song, something seemed different about the air around me. More crisp and vivid, maybe.

A half hour passed. I knew we had gotten there early for preparations, but I looked down at my watch- only 10 minutes until the show started. Shouldn't there be more people here? I guess I assumed the arena would be packed.

10 minutes came and went, and soon enough my parents were on stage performing with their symphony. I took in all the notes, all the key changes, all the pitch bending, all the chord progressions- but I became very unfocused as I dozed off into that feeling I felt out on my front lawn, in the fall air, playing my guitar. It happened as I matched the music with the facial expressions of the musicians before me. Even my parents, I had never seen them involved or engaged in their instruments in this way. And now that I had come to think of it, I had never watched them play instruments outside of teaching me how to.

My doze was suddenly interrupted when an old and hardened voice huffed into my ear, "Aren't ya a little young to be attendin' a symphony?"

I jumped a little and glanced at the man sitting next to me. When did he get here? I could have sworn no one was around me this whole time-

"My parents brought me here to listen."

He grinned and chuckled. "Ah. That's what it always seems to be. Either to memorize the numbers theyz playin' or cos your parents made ya come." He shook his head.

I blinked. Maybe that's why no one was here.

"No one comes just to enjoy the show?"

He chuckled again. "Are you kiddin'? Everyone's seen this show before. Everyone's heard these songs already. Everyone's enjoyed them, so much to the point that they just can play it themselves. You'll probably be able to play these songs one day too, kid."

I had already picked up some of the violin parts, my heart pounded fast when I had heard them; I took it as a sign that was my next instrument I should teach myself.

I sunk in my chair.

"Well then why are you here, sir?"

And suddenly, he looked face-forward at me. I collected the image of his face: scruffy, wrinkled, dirty. His rotten clothes matched his face. So did the smell. His hair was gray and out of control, bleeding into a bald spot right on top of his head. He had a slash from the side of his mouth to the bottom of his chin. I regretted my question.

"I live here," he pressed. "This is MY house."

"Oh," was all I could reply.

"Yeah. I make it pretty good here." He crossed his legs, threw his arms behind his head, and leaned back like he owned the place. "It's my kingdom here, you know? I have my own kingdom, within this so-called 'musical kingdom' we live in."

"That's good, sir," I replied. I was trying to think of polite ways to get away from him; to keep myself out of danger.

"What kind of music are ya?"

I wasn't sure what he meant by that question. We all played music, and sure there were different styles but we each played a major variety. I wasn't just one. Maybe he meant what instruments I liked to play.

"I like guitar," I told him. I thought I had made a mistake after telling him that. Guitar was not a common instrument in our kingdom, from the impression I had received from my parents it was actually pretty looked down upon. Then again, everything I knew about the kingdom I had learned from my parents.

His eyes widened. He looked straight at me. "Guitar. Wow, kid. Thas a good one."

He left the comfort of his previous haughty position and leaned in close to my face. Was I beginning to sweat?  "Look. I'm about to tell you something that might save your life. Listen here. Everyone here knows music. Especially this music that they're playin." He pointed his finger at me. We were still whispering, in attempts to be courteous to the concert happening before us, I guess. But they way he began to whisper was as if someone was listening, that we didn't want to listen. "You take that guitar. You learn it. You keep learnin' it. Teach yourself. And don't stick around."

Don't stick around? What did that mean?

"Don't stick around, sir?"

"No. Kid, I can't say much, it's too dangerous. But don't confine to just stickin' around. You gotta get out. You gotta teach others about that feeling you have in the pit of your stomach when you're playing your guitar."

How did he know about that feeling?

"This kingdom is way too stuck together. We never break out. We have something really beautiful goin' here, somethin everyone needs to know. Do you know there are people out there that don't know about music? They've never even heard of it."

I couldn't fathom what he meant. People who had never heard of music? Wasn't everyone around the world taught the same way I was?

"Then why don't you go out and teach others the music you know, sir?"

He grinned. "Because, my days of music are coming to an end soon. Kid, I lived long before this kingdom existed. I was a music teacher in my youth. And the way those kids faces lit up when we played... I taught them theory, but I never forget to let them play open freestyle. Man," he paused for a reflective moment. "I'll never forget their faces. And I taught for a long time, too. Many years, many different developing styles I saw. Then I heard about the development of the music kingdom. Thought it'd be a great opportunity. And it is- when we explore and use it for the right purpose. Now everyone just lives in it's luxury, and comfort; only teaching their own kind the beauty of music. Kid, music heals. Music understands. The world needs music. And only the kingdom has it. But we've been keeping it under a bowl, in a sound proof room where no one can hear it- cos thas' what's comfortable for us-"

He suddenly took his eyes off of me and leaned over just an inch, his eyes tracing a figure of something behind me. I heard footsteps approaching swiftly through our aisle of seats.

"I've said too much. Kid, I'm here to tell kids like you to go out and teach others about the gift you've been given. Trust me, kid. This world needs you."

He placed his hand on my shoulder, and then rushed out of his seat.

I stood, attempting to assemble what had just happened. I tried to take it all in, remember it, information to meditate on. But my thoughts were shattered when a stern voice behind me chanted, "Was that man bothering you?" He was whispering, yet he still seemed so loud.

"Uh, no sir," I looked up, still sitting in my seat, while he was standing. An arena guard.

"Hm. Well, let me know if he approaches you again. He's just a poor homeless man. He is nothing but danger toward you, son." It seemed like he wasn't even paying attention to me, but just reminding himself of the authority he had with his words. Only then did he look at me when said, "And remember. No talking when the symphony is playing."

"Yessir" I addressed him.

-

"How did you enjoy the concert?" my mother asked me as we crossed the parking lot, mother holding one hand and father holding the other.

I enjoyed what I heard. But the concert was not the least of my concert, with the information the homeless man had given me during it.

"It was good," I replied.

I saw my mother and father exchange looks of concern, they probably expected or wanted a stronger answer than that, but it was the best I could do for now. I had other things to think about. Things my parents had never bothered to tell me.

"Oh no!" my father gasped.

"What?" Replied mother.

"I forgot my sheet music in the theater. And I have to practice for the next show, I need my sheets!" He looked back at the theater. "Honey, why don't you get the car started? I'll take him with me to grab the sheets."

We parted ways with mother and headed back to the arena. After walking quite a ways through the parking lot we finally met the sidewalk, and suddenly I head a ringing melody in the air. A buzzing and crisp melody, with chords in an order that was nothing like the regular chord progressions I was used to hearing around the house and playing through the speakers of school. It was different, eclectic, ecstatic. It churned out emotion instead of just dictating it as I felt my parents taught me music was. I felt the same feeling again, the same feeling I had playing my guitar. I turned my head sharply in the direction of the melody.

Two small buildings greeted the side of the arena, a ticket booth and an abandoned merchandise shop. In between these buildings was a small sliver, an alley; where the melody was coming from. There was the homeless man, playing on some sort of instrument I had never heard or seen before. It started in his mouth and blew out like a waterfall; his hands multitasking by holding the instrument in them and playing buttons on the instrument at the same time to determine the next note. It was crazy. It was surreal.

He was surrounded by 3 or 4 other men who looked a lot like him; dirty, torn up, old- homeless. They were cheering and clapping for his melody. This was the reaction I thought the audience inside the arena would have had.

"Poor guys," my dad chimed in. "See son, these are outsiders. They don't belong in the kingdom. They're not from the kingdom. They're just little ants seeking a place to stay- they usually sneak into the arena." He shook his head. "These parts can really be unsafe."

"But dad, that man is playing music. What he is playing is music. So he's a part of the kingdom," I explained.

"Well, maybe he is. But the others are reacting because they've never heard of music. We don't associate with those people, son."

I was astounded. "How do we teach the world about music if we don't associate with people who don't know about it?"

He stopped us on our way back into the arena. "Son. People like those are dangerous. They are unsafe."

"That's because they don't know about music," I huffed under my breath.

"What was that, son?" I could tell my dad was beginning to become frustrated with me.

"Nothing," I lied.

"We have children to teach them music. Then we remain safe in our kingdom, prospering on our music; our children growing up to do the same." He surprisingly began to smile. "I guess I'm glad those men were there, so I could teach you this lesson. You're getting older and it's time you learned."

We both remained quiet. His quietness was probably a way of him waiting for me to reply, "Sure thing, dad" or "Yeah, you're right father" but I couldn't find it in me to do it.

"Are we hiding from those men?" I asked him.

"What? No," he said.

"Then why can't we associate with them?"

"Because they are dangerous to our kingdom," he said.

"Why?"

"Son, if you ask one more question, I am grounding you." He got down to my level and whipped out his finger. He looked me in the eye. "Don't think I don't know what's going on. I saw you playing guitar outside our house. I saw you talking to someone during the symphony. I'm not oblivious. I can't let you do anything that is dangerous to yourself or the kingdom." He sighed and looked down. "The truth is, if you hang out with people who don't know about music, then you will forget about it. You will not practice it. You will let music go. And we can't let that happen." He looked up at me again and touched my face. "Music is your life, son."

I knew the last statement was true. But I couldn't and didn't believe the first half.

-


"Dad?"

My 11-year-old daughter unlocked her gaze from outside the car window and look forward to the back of my head in front of her. She then asked, "How did you learn about music?"

The car grew quiet. My wife looked at me and smiled. She placed her hand on top of mine.

This was the question I had been waiting my daughter to ask me. This was the moment I was waiting for.

"Sweetie, that's a great question.

I first learned music from my parents. They taught me the dynamics, normal everyday musical scales of voice and piano you are first taught when you are born in the Kingdom- very great and crucial things to learn when you are first practicing and mastering music.

But I don't think I really learned music and what it really is until I sat outside my house and strummed an old guitar one day.

And I learned how to properly use music when an old man told me that I needed to go out and teach others about it. That there were people in the world who didn't know what music was, who had never heard of it. Later that day I saw him playing in an alley to some men who had never heard music before. I will never forget the looks on their faces.

I knew then I couldn't stay in the kingdom forever. I stayed to finish studying and learning music in it's full- well, at least until I graduated high school. Then I traveled the entire kingdom, learning about different styles of music I had never heard before. So many people had so many different perspectives. I did this for two years. Then I left the kingdom, to teach others about music who didn't know about it; who have never heard of it.

I didn't just play it to them, though. I became friends with these people. We built relationships and bonds that I'll have forever. It was then, when I became invested in them, and them in me; I shared my heart about music to them. Then they just had to hear it. So I play. And they listen. And they immediately ask me to teach them.

I should also say, it's not that they want to learn about me. They genuinely want to learn about the music, how to play; and how to let it into your heart.

That's also how I met your mother. I had first met her, living among a nation of people who knew nothing about music. But when I first met her, I just knew- I felt it- that she had already known how to play music, and beautifully she did.

So we fell in love, learned more about music together, and married. And that's where you came in."

Although I couldn't see her because I was driving, I felt my daughter smile behind me.

"You didn't learn about music until you left the music kingdom, it sounds like," she suggested to me.

"Honey, I'm still learning about music. I learn about music everyday," I replied.

-

Luke 11:33 "No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light."