Universal Language

The Universal Language is supposed to be Esperanto. Actually, that's what they were trying to pull off. It hasn't worked yet. I have gone overseas and have seen English signs for posterity or for the usage ease of foreign visitors. Being an American, I have not learned a language, though my mother made me study one dialect of Chinese, and I chose to study another. With the first, I made no headway; with the second, I was able to play Uno completely in that language! Of course, I couldn't say much to the guy who completely screwed me up but "Thank you", very sarcastically. When it comes time to study my high school requirement, I'm going to learn Spanish, the language I can best use in my circumstances.

But I digress, this actually was not about words. When all the languages were scrambled, it was one of the worst punishments on earth, but there was a small compensation that helped ease the blow. The true Universal Language was left to us.

I one time performed a tin whistle solo at a talent show and was accosted the next day by a group of folks who couldn't speak English. I happened to be playing the piano at the time. They nodded at me excitedly and made motions to show that they'd seen me playing the music the night before, and stuck their thumbs up, grinning joyously at me the whole time. I then was supposed to play them something on the piano. It didn't come off as good, as my fingers had suddenly turned to bricks. Ah, for a professional's poise! I wish...

Music. That universal language. If you want people across centuries, continents, generations, to hear your exultation, your pain, your gift to the world, pull out your instrument of choice and record it. Chances are that somehow it will come out.

Of course, it's not as precise as words, but sometimes precision detracts. Obviously, one can't pull out a whistle (or a fiddle, or a guitar, or a trumpet), start playing in the Hong Kong International Airport, and expect the plethora of people from all over to understand that you mean, "Where is the #@#$ restroom? My flight to Timbuctu is in 5 minutes!", and the guy from Israel can't pull out a banjo and respond, "Wait 'til you get on the plane!" But you can take out your whistle and play it (where you're allowed to) and throw your heart into it, and somehow someone will understand.

Of course, they won't know exactly what goes on inside your heart, and they won't know exactly what you mean. But there will be that invisible link between your music and your heart and that persons ears and heart, and often, if you have no practical needs (or even if you can do but can cast aside the cares of the practical world for a moment), it's enough to create unity. I have sung a song in English while others around me have sung it in their language. It makes for a delicious cacophony, and an understanding.

I, of course, love music and chose it as one of my primary avocations (vocation? You may think so, but you have not heard me play or sing!), but it astounds me how much universality there is in that genre.

By this time, you may be thinking, "I just don't get those shrieky Celtic flute-thingys," or else, "What about that Hawaiian steel guitar that I can't stand?" Well, unfortunately, lack of understanding was there long before screwy speech, and is present in everything. Almost as important as other freedoms and tolerances is the freedom and tolerance of music. Which I need to remind myself of when I hear those steel guitars (but I do like Celtic flute-thingys; tin whistles!). And the rest comes naturally.

I'll close with a story. I had a very dear friend and dance teacher who liked us all to bring music to class. I, of course, brought Atwater-Donnelly's (I have a one-track mind sometimes!) The Blackest Crow and let her pick a song. She chose the only song on the album that I didn't care for, "Sweet Fern." I danced to it dutifully, and when we were done, she went into raptures about it. "Oh, what a lovely song! How sweet! I just love that song! Caitriona, thanks for bringing the music!"

I sat there, thinking, "Really? I can't stand that one!" But then I thought again. I liked and respected my teacher, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. So of course I wouldn't say it aloud. I found myself automatically rescanning the whole song because my teacher loved it so. And then I found something in there, the exquisite longing and the sadness that accompanied it. Maybe it wasn't what my teacher found, but now I love the song because I found what it means to me.

So, now, excuse me while I go find a decent sample of Hawaiian music and discover what it has to say...