Kage Baker believed in … harmonics. The music of the spheres. The Lost Chord, which Sir Arthur Sullivan ecstatically declared came from the soul of an organ into his: such an image! The underlying harmony that underwrote and encompassed the Universe; which Kage devoutly believed was the echo of the voice of God.

There is a passage in, I think, Sir Terry Pratchett’s Soul Music, where he reports that the arcane religious order of The Listening Monks has taken on the goal of determining what that sound was, that brought the universe into being. The best of the monks reports a faint voice chanting “One, two, three four … ” But the best and most pious of the them adds that just before that the same voice can be heard muttering, “one – one, two …”

Kage took this to indicate that Sir Terry, like her, believed that the primal music was rock and roll. It made sense. Those of us who survived the Sixties know it can raise the dead – why not start Life as well? And the shameless Chaos of rock and roll accounts nicely for all the weird things we are constantly finding in the Universe in general. I mean, really – doesn’t it seem like a lot of it has been improvised? And further, improvised by Someone who’s done 8 shows in 7 days, slept (if at all) on a bus, and has been living on whiskey and handfuls of little coloured things that might be M&M’s …

And, oh, how Kage wanted to go for take-away with that Band!

Echoes of the primal song always seem to sound in storms. We’ve got one gradually dispersing here in Los Angeles – not the apocalyptic storm predicted (as usual) by the over-excited weather people, but just a nice, ordinary winter storm. Cold, windy, wet; moderate rain here and there, heavier rain and some hail in the foothills, a pretty good layer of snow in the mountains. A much needed, neighborly storm.

Now it’s shredding away, leaving just enough cloud that we ought to have a nice sunset. There’s a chance of rain tonight, even a chance of thunderstorms! But, to be honest, that almost never happens except in the higher elevations. It’ll be a much softer music tonight; just the occasional drip of leftover water from the trees overhead. And the occasional  raccoon falling off the roof …

Last night, a presumably wet and unhappy raccoon did come in through the dog door in the middle of the night. I heard the squeak and skitter, and then the almost-silent rush by my bed of a Corgi who meant business; and we had some primal music then! Much barking and growling and squealing, then, and skidding noises and the thud of someone running into the doorframe. And then The Triumphant Return of the Corgi, dancing to whatever jubilant war music plays in a Corgi’s head … something with harp and creuth, I imagine, to honor his Welsh heritage.

Anyway, last night was full of music, because the rain was coming down and the critters were coming out; and nothing fills a spring night like those events. Tonight it will be less of both, I suspect; but if the skies clear, then the cold high voices of the stars may drift down and chime along the roof.

Lacking the Voice of God, I can sleep quite well to that.

I have sought, but I seek it vainly, that one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the organ and enter’d into mine.

Post Script: yestreday, Word Press was having issues, conniption fits and small strokes; it wouldn’t let me post. I found a way in today. So belated St. Patrick’s Day to those Dear Readers of an Irish persuasion: I didn’t ignore the holiday! I just ran pointlessly around the walls until the corned beef and cabbage were ready, and then I went away and ate dinner.