On the airplane from Beijing to Zurich on November 16th, I put on the Airpods and some music too (because all too often I put on the Airpods and forget to play any music). I finally opened the Joni Mitchell book again and I cannot read this one without some music on the background that does it justice (some from Joni herself but Doc Watson, for example, would also do). I started the chapter where she moved to Sunshine Coast in Canada after becoming depressed and bought a stone house, beautiful and austere, to hide from the crowd and do some thinking on her own. She would listen to the sound of the water and light candles in the darkness and read Nietzsche and Beethoven. “To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.” “Without music, life would be a mistake.” “Depression can be the sand that makes the pearl. If you get rid of the demons and the disturbing things, then the angels fly off, too.” When the intro of Dreams by Courrier Sud, the second song on one of my saved playlists on Spotify, started playing, I suddenly wanted to cry. I have just had a week without music in the dry winter of Beijing and listening to this bit of music felt like drinking water after severe dehydration. Every cell can sense the water running through it and how it’s been saved from drying and dying.
Without music, life would be very dry. The exquisite meals prepared by the Michelin-starred chef in the business class of Swiss Airlines cannot save it. The endless talk of economic development and business proposals and substantial financial gains cannot save it. The AI algorithms that can write sophisticated articles and calculate where to set up coffee shops cannot save it. The sun and the beach and the mountains and the forest and the furthest travel cannot save it. The most expensive purchasable item cannot save it. Life can be good with all these things. But good and dry are two different dimensions. I’ve taken so many flights that every time I board a plane, I can’t help but think, what if this one falls. And every time I land, I tend to think I survived this one, lucky me, but who knows about the next one. It puts lots of things into perspective, especially if you are a soul that’s been meandering around for too long to be able to draw strength from the pretense of belonging somewhere, with someone. (This was where I stopped.)
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