Only once in my life have I heard music so beautiful as to be the embodiment of beauty, passion in the flesh of the ear. Its strings singing honestly, earnestly. The gossamer notes fell softly on me, threatening the solitary stone that beats as my heart. There is no room for weakness in prison. One needs to be strong, vigilant. Because in this primal place, the weak are prey.

And yet I was caught in the throes of this clarion call, and the muse of music. The subdued sounds of the violin effortlessly slide by my defenses. The sharp, smooth and flowing notes pierce the stone and let the chorus I image angels would sing flow into my heart. Like gospel truths it shows me thing I did not know. While my eyes refused to shed their tears, my soul wept at the knowledge it heard. The song sung the story of some unnamed, unattained heartfelt ideal. Yet it ended with a resilient hope. Defiant in its will, unyielding to surrender. There is strength in that. Once the melody found its end, I felt unburdened. It was akin to an awakening, a religious experience. For the briefest of moments, I knew rapture.

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