To the Oxford Language Dictionary, it means “A place of refuge or safety.”
To the old French who invented the word, it means “A holy place.”
To me, it means music.
Music doesn’t just include traditional places like Severance Hall,
Or even blaring rock venues like the Grog Shop.
As long as there is a combination of sounds that gives you chills, it counts.
What are chills?
To me, chills aren’t just goosebumps -
That’s just called being cold.
Chills are when it feels like your skin is pleasantly peeling open,
Revealing arcane marks on your shoulders, back, arms, and forehead.
It feels like you are one with the sounds around you.
Do you feel chills? That is music.
Music is being immersed within a May forest.
The sighing wind,
Chipper birds,
Giggling streams,
Shushing leaves.
It all comes together into a harmony that coos, “Peace, safety, harmony.”
Music is being at sports practice.
The thwack of a ball striking your body,
The creak of a bow, the snap of the string,
A coach, either howling or growling,
Your heart in your ears and your breath out your mouth.
It’s chaotic, but it’s a chaotic rhythm that demands “Respect, progress, camaraderie.”
Music is the quiet serenity of a holy space.
Candle wicks cracking as they burn,
Prayers reverently muttered under someone’s breath,
The holy leader’s sermon,
The hymns of the congregation.
However, it is only music if these places practice their mantras of “faith, community, love.”
Music is emotion given sense, something raw and powerful and beautiful and ugly all at once.
Music is the sign that your heart is secure,
But not in a box.
It is secure in the ebb and flow of the rhythms of life,
But not in a static, robotic repetition.
This rhythm is the one that you and only you decide,
And not anyone’s to infringe upon.
Because at the end of the day, music is not what the Oxford Language Dictionary decides.
It is your sanctuary.
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