The human ego is like a complex musical fugue - a contrapuntal composition in which a short melody is accompanied by the same interweaving melodies, intelligently forming harmonies.
Read on.
At first, when an inexperienced pianist attempts to play a fugue, it all sounds like a bunch of chords played one after another, as if these chords are being herded towards the coda section - a sort of an abattoir for eighth, quarter, and whole notes - not having a chance to taste musical expression.
As the pianist’s technique becomes a bit more refined, she is able to bring out a barely chewable melody out of that mishmash of a chordal progression. She is able to isolate a semi-conscious layer of melody that may seem to be on the verge of awakening but,…alas…will likely be drowned by the multitude of inexpressive accompanying notes, the stampeding black Friday crowds rushing towards the appetizing trough - the coda section.
She keeps practicing and perfecting her technique. There seems to be hope. She suddenly gets a glimpse of the ever-deceiving, flawless, mechanistic technique that once promised success but now lacks expression and singing tone.
Hours, days, months pass and she continues to practice. After the many years of cleaning and scrubbing, refining and practicing, she finally sees a bit of light through the cracks of the haphazardly piled up musical notes. All the melodies begin to surface independently, coherently gliding through a well rounded musical piece.
As the player masters her craft even more, the listener is able to grasp a well phrased musical expression and nuancing.
When she finally masters the whole fugue, through perfect technique, expressive and melodious phrasing, all the melodies accompanying each other seem to dissipate and merge into a magnificent oneness, gifting the listener with one true melody, the melody the composer had in mind.
The seemingly complex and overly-layered, chaotic fugue, through some serious cleansing process and scrutiny, becomes a single melody to the attentive listener. In other words, the musician delayers the fugue. She crafts it and cleans it to its sublime perfection.
This is the precise process of the slow and meticulous annihilation of the thickly layered human ego, all the way down to the abyss of sublimely perfect no-thingness of Truth.
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