I try to limit my TV watching to the news programs since most of the "magazine" and "entertainment" programs are either about the banality of fame or the evil of murder. I don't enjoy either topics.
But on some rare occasions I come across a program so profound that it is an instant "peak experience" that justifies a whole year's worth of cable fees.
Last night as I was surfing through the channels I stumbled upon a piano concert, or rather... a force of nature conjuring up a whole new galaxy in thin air through sonic pyrotechnics.
The pianist was the incomparable Misha Dichter.
The piece was Sergei Prokofiev's Sonata No.7 in B Flat Op. 83.
While I almost watched my spirit leave my body with the impact of the composition and the delivery, I also could not help but ponder about the injustice of death, especially the death of a comet like Prokofiev (1891-1953) and no doubt the future and inescapable demise of that angel-on-fire named Misha Dichter.
How many endless hours Dichter has spent since early childhood practicing those endless scales and etudes, I wondered silently, while the world was busy out there with its usual business of earning a living and keeping the appearances under control?
What sacrifices Prokofiev has made to write that immortal Sonata?
And how come both will one day be forgotten, their names only a curious footnote in the collective memory of humanity? Where is justice?!
For a second I thought God should cut some slack to great souls like Prokofiev and Dichter and just let them live forever on the basis of their accomplishments...
I thought God should grant human beings a Free Pass Card once they cross a threshold by composing or performing the Sonata No. 7.
The instant I shared this "wonderful thought" with my wife, she, with her usual eminent common sense, brought me back to earth by inviting me to consider the implications of a world in which all the prophets and kings and commanders and composers, all the famous ones, still lived and walked about... had their own TV talk shows... clubs and political parties... had their own web sites and pushed their spam ads on us... ran for office...
Immortality sounds nice, but thanks.
The privilege of just listening to Dichter play Prokofiev and watch every single hair on my neck and head (the number of which diminishes with every passing year) rise is probably still the best of all possible worlds for me.
Ugur Akinci is a writer with 20 years of experience. Visit his web site http://www.writer111.com for more information.
Source: www.articlecity.com
