{"id":722,"date":"2021-12-23T15:17:15","date_gmt":"2021-12-23T15:17:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.yoganandafortheworld.com\/story\/?p=722"},"modified":"2021-12-23T15:18:00","modified_gmt":"2021-12-23T15:18:00","slug":"a-place-called-ananda-chapter-21-i-take-up-writing-music","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.yoganandafortheworld.com\/story\/a-place-called-ananda-chapter-21-i-take-up-writing-music\/","title":{"rendered":"A Place Called Ananda — Chapter 21: I Take Up Writing Music"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>
The Gandharvas (Celestial Singers) perform at India Faire, Ananda Village, 1975. L-R: Vasudeva, Arati, Kumari, Nitai, Mukti, Nalini, Lakshmi, Seva, Maitri, Hariprasad, Haridas, Lakshman Simpson
\n<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

In the summer of 1964<\/strong> I spent a week vacationing at Yosemite National Park, in California. Yosemite must surely be one of the most beautiful places on earth. By an interesting coincidence, it was here I wrote Part One of the present book, during the summer of 1996. My first visit may have been the one I made in 1964, though it\u2019s possible I\u2019d been there once with my parents. I was deeply inspired by the solitude there, surrounded by towering peaks, majestic waterfalls, tall trees, and tranquillity \u2013 all of which I sensed in spite of surrounding throngs of tourists.<\/p>\n

The day before my scheduled departure from Yosemite, I noticed a couple of youths sitting on the stone railing of a bridge, playing a guitar and singing. I felt in the mood for song, and asked if they\u2019d like me to sing for them.<\/p>\n

\u201cBy all means!\u201d they replied \u2013 relieved, I suspected, to be temporarily unburdened of the need for carrying a tune! I had a very limited repertoire, however. I knew Yogananda\u2019s chants, and several Indian bhajans<\/em> (devotional songs). I also knew a number of classical songs by such composers as Mozart, Schubert, Tchaikovsky, and Grieg. None of these seemed right for that setting, or for that audience. I therefore sang an old American favorite: \u201cSwing Low, Sweet Chariot\u201d (the only one I could think of besides \u201cI\u2019ve Been Workin\u2019 on the Railroad,\u201d which somehow didn\u2019t fit the occasion).<\/p>\n

\u201cWow!\u201d they cried. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to come sing for a party we\u2019re having tonight. Will you, please?\u201d<\/p>\n

I agreed. Instead of the usual cocktail party scene, with people standing about politely, these people were lying about in assorted vacationing poses on a sandy beach. My young friends introduced me, and everyone sat up to listen. I sang \u2013 well, what else? \u2013 \u201dSwing Low, Sweet Chariot.\u201d They begged me to sing another. I demurred, not wanting to admit how very limited my repertoire was.<\/p>\n

The next day, as I was driving out of Yosemite Valley, the thought came to me, \u201cWhat a wonderful way of sharing with others!\u201d What a pity, I thought, that there weren\u2019t more songs I could sing from my heart. None, it seemed to me, expressed teachings that had any particularly meaningful message. Even classical songs described mostly the same old sentiments: disappointed love, jealousy, or hope, none of which were particularly exalted themes. \u201cO cessate di piagarmi! O lasciate mi morir!\u201d<\/em> wailed \u2013 was it Scarlatti? (\u201cOh, stop wounding me! Oh, let me die!\u201d) Was this the sort of thing I wanted to share with others? The only possible motive for singing such nonsense would be to show off my own voice, and what good would that do? In fact, that was why I seldom sang classical songs, even though I enjoyed many of them as music. In public I\u2019d sung a few Indian bhajans,<\/em> and some of Master\u2019s chants. I felt, however, that it would be betraying what he had given me if I sang songs with no meaningful message.<\/p>\n

In fact this was why, as a young man in college, I\u2019d ignored the suggestions of many that I become a professional singer. My singing teacher in Philadelphia, an elderly woman and a true artist, had said to me, \u201cI\u2019m living for only one thing now: to see you become a great<\/em> singer!\u201d In reaction, I\u2019d stopped studying altogether. I didn\u2019t want to disappoint her, nor the many others who predicted a singing career for me, but my heart was bent on seeking truth. It would have seemed to me worse than hypocritical to pretend sentiments that no sane person, in my opinion, could possibly feel. (I remember a famous French baritone kneeling on the platform and clasping his hands fervently while singing the Marseillaise.<\/em> A rousing national anthem, no doubt, but, apart from being thoroughly bloodthirsty, it offended all my aspirations toward world harmony and peace.)<\/p>\n

Still, I visualized myself while driving: going about the country, singing songs with lyrics that were meaningful.<\/em> Would any<\/em> lyrics, however, express the universal truths Master had taught? None that I knew of, unfortunately.<\/p>\n

I was about to give up the idea as a fantasy when a thought popped into my mind: \u201cI wonder if I could write my own songs?\u201d<\/p>\n

The moment the thought came, a melody popped into my mind, complete with lyrics. All my life, melodies had drifted into my mind and out of it again. Many of them had been beautiful. This one, too, inspired me. I stopped at a milk shake stand and wrote the song out on a paper napkin. I had played the piano for years as a boy, and was familiar with music notation. All I needed to do now was draw two sets of five lines each on the napkin, then pencil in the notes and put the words under them. What came out was thrilling. Another amazing thing was the ease with which it came, as if it had written itself. I was obliged to rein in my inspiration to get it all down.<\/p>\n

I was on my way to my parents\u2019 home. On arrival there, I found that my brother Dick had left a Martin guitar there. He had no immediate use for it, and later gave it to me. I bought Pete Seeger\u2019s Guitar Player\u2019s Guide<\/em> at a music store, and began earnestly studying the guitar. Songs kept coming to me, each with a meaningful and uplifting message and a beautiful melody. Like the first, they came almost effortlessly.<\/p>\n

I sang one or two of these new songs at the ashram during the Sunday service, to enhance my message. Before I knew it, another invitation came from the Dutton Club at the Unitarian Church, asking if I wouldn\u2019t give a concert. A concert? I\u2019d been playing the guitar only one month! It would be the sheerest madness to accept. This was a challenge, however, and I was, as they say, \u201cup for\u201d challenges just then. I accepted. In justification I thought, \u201cAt least this will force me to practice!\u201d<\/p>\n

Practice I certainly did! Unremittingly, for a whole week. Two more songs came to me within that time, which I wrote out and learned for the concert. One of them may be worth including here. It was for the Unitarian church members themselves, many of whom were, I\u2019d heard, atheists.<\/p>\n

What is love? Is it only ours?<\/em><\/p>\n

Or does love whisper in the flowers?<\/em><\/p>\n

Surely we, children of this world,<\/em><\/p>\n

Could not love by our own powers.<\/em><\/p>\n

What is joy? Is it just a dream?<\/em><\/p>\n

Or does joy laugh in every stream?<\/em><\/p>\n

Are the clouds mindless after all?<\/em><\/p>\n

Or is joy all Nature\u2019s theme?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cGod is dead\u201d \u2013 so men say:<\/em><\/p>\n

Can\u2019t they see all life\u2019s His play?<\/em><\/p>\n

Not a church binds Him as its own;<\/em><\/p>\n

Not a creed makes Him fully known.<\/em><\/p>\n

Foolish we, if we limit Him:<\/em><\/p>\n

Every atom is His throne!<\/em><\/p>\n

The \u201cbig evening\u201d arrived. Fortunately, I wasn\u2019t nervous: I never have been in public. My view is that if I\u2019m a fool, what harm is there in people knowing it? Meanwhile, I do my best to share what I can. I must say, however, this particular evening presented even more obstacles than I\u2019d expected. The worst of them was that, in order to create \u201catmosphere,\u201d all the lights had been turned off and only a candle shone \u201cmystically\u201d on the mantelpiece \u2013 behind<\/em> me! If there was one thing I desperately needed it was enough light to enable me to see the guitar strings.<\/p>\n

The room was packed with 200 people, all of them eagerly expectant. I must admit that their expectancy, while gratifying, didn\u2019t lessen my concern. This was hardly what the new composer hopes for from his \u201cworld premiere\u201d! I knew my voice could lift me part of the way out of the pit of disaster. And I had hope for the bhajans<\/em> and a few chants I planned to include along with interesting and uplifting stories. My own songs? Well, perhaps the voice and the lyrics would make up for any lapse in the accompaniment.<\/p>\n

As it turned out, the concert was a success. A young man came up to me afterwards and said, \u201cI\u2019m a major in music at San Francisco State. I liked your songs, but some of your chords surprised me.\u201d He reflected a moment, then added, \u201cHmmm, unusual!\u201d (Yes, I thought \u2013 very<\/em> unusual! in fact, unintentional and undoubtedly quite wrong.) Still, my \u201ccareer\u201d as a composer had been launched, in a sense.<\/p>\n

More and more demands began coming for my songs. To try to \u201ctune in\u201d to the folk-style in music, which seemed well adapted to the guitar, I joined a folk music group on Stanyan Street. Faith Petric, the leader of the group, was an enthusiast for that genre, and liked my own songs. I asked her if she knew anyone who might teach me to play the guitar. \u201cThe man you need,\u201d she replied, \u201cis Larry Hanks, if you can find him. He\u2019s the perfect teacher for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

One evening at Christmas time, 1964, I went to Berkeley to join a group who planned to sing Christmas music informally together. I saw someone sitting alone. Suddenly the thought came to me, \u201cThat\u2019s Larry Hanks!\u201d I went over and asked his name. \u201cLarry Hanks,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m supposed to study with you,\u201d I said. Astonished, he agreed to take me as a student.<\/p>\n

During one of our lessons he remarked, \u201cI like your songs, but they lack realism. They\u2019re too happy. Life isn\u2019t like that. There\u2019s suffering everywhere in the world, and injustice. Your songs ought to take those darker realities into account.\u201d<\/p>\n

I went home and gave the matter some thought, then decided for Larry\u2019s sake to write a blues. What came out, however, wasn\u2019t exactly what he\u2019d had in mind. In fact, I called it, \u201cThe Non-Blues.\u201d At my next session with him we both had a good chuckle over it.<\/p>\n

On another occasion, after a concert, a woman came up to me and said, \u201cWell, you<\/em> can write happy songs. You\u2019ve never suffered!\u201d<\/p>\n

I replied, \u201cThat isn\u2019t true. It\u2019s because I have<\/em> suffered that I\u2019ve won the right to compose happy songs. What I\u2019ve written isn\u2019t sweet sentiment: It\u2019s victory!\u201d<\/p>\n

The evening after I met Larry Hanks, I was driving back to San Francisco over the Oakland Bay Bridge when two Christmas songs appeared, full-blown, in my mind: \u201cThe Christmas Mystery,\u201d and \u201cThat Night When Christ Was Born.\u201d Late that night I stayed up, writing them down. These two, and especially the first, have long been among people\u2019s favorites. (So also, I should add, has \u201cThe Non-Blues.\u201d)<\/p>\n

It has long puzzled me why music should come to me so easily. I\u2019m told that song-writers and composers often \u201csweat blood\u201d getting their music right. For a long time I thought I must not be much of a musician, because, for me, it seemed almost like play. In fact, I understood why people say they \u201cplay\u201d music! I deferred to anyone who told me he or she was a musician, and tried to learn everything I could from them. Even today, there are millions of people in the world who know far more about music than I do. The only explanation I can offer for my music is that it isn\u2019t mine. I simply listen, hear it in my mind, and write it down.<\/p>\n

The truth is, I never studied composition, though I did once take a course in composition at college, studying hardly at all and rarely going to class. It offended me to see those wonderful notes and chords reduced to mechanisms. \u201cHere is the first inversion of this chord. Here is the second.\u201d I just couldn\u2019t think of music in that way. I would have done so, I imagine, had I known I\u2019d someday be writing music. All I learned from that course was two rules: that parallel fifths should be avoided (in one of my songs, however, they work perfectly), and that the bass line ought, when possible, to move in opposite directions to the melody. I didn\u2019t know chords. I didn\u2019t know progressions. All I had was an ear for music. That is to say, I knew what worked, and what didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

As it turned out, my ignorance was fortunate. Not knowing the rules, I was forced to discover them for myself. I soon realized that the rules are all there, waiting to be found; none of them is arbitrary. Music is a language. Every melody, every chord, every rhythm has its own meaning. Not knowing the rules, I had to learn for myself not only what worked musically, but what, specifically, would say what I wanted to say. Not thinking of myself as a musician made it easier to keep myself out of the picture, and to let the music express itself<\/em> to me. Every piece of music I wrote was something I\u2019d first \u201cheard.\u201d Sometimes it was there when I awoke in the morning. I found, in time, that I could even tune in to different cultures, periods of history, and states of consciousness, and receive music that was appropriate to each of them.<\/p>\n

One morning I woke up with a melody for Edward Fitzgerald\u2019s translation of Omar Khayyam\u2019s Rubaiyat,<\/em> for which Yogananda had written a commentary.<\/a>*(1)<\/a> Years later I sang this melody to a man from Iran. \u201cWhy,\u201d he exclaimed in astonishment, \u201cthat\u2019s Persian!\u201d I knew nothing of Persian music.<\/p>\n

Once I became frustrated with the comparative difficulty of writing lyrics, what with rhymes and the need for squeezing meaning into as few words as possible while still making it clear, and without slipping into poetic deception by writing something incomprehensible concealed behind obscure, but supposedly deep, imagery. Clarity was my primary aim, whether in teaching or in writing. On the day of my frustration (it was with the difficulty of writing meaningful but enjoyable lyrics) I thought, \u201cI think I\u2019ll write melodies for Shakespeare\u2019s lyrics. Let him<\/em> do the hard work!\u201d In three days I put eighteen of his lyrics to music. They\u2019ve remained popular favorites with many people.<\/p>\n

Once I was invited to speak and sing for Crystal Springs, a girls\u2019 school on the Peninsula south of San Francisco. Nancy Ponch, who had invited me in some official capacity and had driven me down, ended up becoming my coach in lyric writing. She herself wrote songs \u2013 bad ones, I\u2019m afraid, though I could never bring myself to say so. But she was<\/em> good at coaching.<\/p>\n

\u201cShakespeare did this sort of thing,\u201d I\u2019d complain, \u201cand he got away with it!\u201d She\u2019d offered criticism on one of my lines.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s fine,\u201d she replied, \u201cbut you aren\u2019t Shakespeare. Besides, there\u2019s nothing we can do about him now. He\u2019s dead, whereas you are very much alive \u2013 still. You shouldn\u2019t let yourself get away with this sort of thing. A strained rhyme may look all right on paper, but it won\u2019t work when sung. Marlowe rhymed \u2018love\u2019 with \u2018prove,\u2019 sure. And there aren\u2019t many rhymes for \u2018love.\u2019 Still, you can always \u2018shove\u2019 a word like that into the middle of a line if it\u2019s difficult to rhyme, then put something more rhymable at the end.\u201d<\/p>\n

A trick I\u2019d learned in my teens had been that when you have a weak rhyme, don\u2019t put it second: Put it first. Then people won\u2019t know you\u2019ve chosen that word only because you couldn\u2019t find one that rhymed well.<\/p>\n

Gradually, from songs that expressed meaning, I went on to writing music without lyrics while in itself<\/em> expressing meaning, and the spirit of Yogananda\u2019s teachings.<\/p>\n

To leap ahead many years, Derek Bell, the famous Irish harpist for The Chieftains, recorded two albums of my music. Cuts from these albums, as well as from others of my music, have been played by several airlines on their international flights. A group from Ananda sang at the Vatican for the Pope. And in May, 2000, a choir of more than fifty Ananda members flew to Italy and sang, in six cities, an Oratorio of mine called \u201cChrist Lives.\u201d Everywhere they performed, they received standing ovations. One man came up to me after the concert in Assisi with tears in his eyes, and said to me in French, \u201cI don\u2019t know a word of English or Italian. [The concert was all in English.] I\u2019m only a visitor here. But I want you to know, I understood every word!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

Music, about which for years I used to ask myself, \u201cIs this really<\/em> a service to Master?\u201d has become one of Ananda\u2019s most important assets. I\u2019ve composed over 300 musical works, including piano and string pieces, choral music, and songs. For me, it has been one of the great joys in my life. Often, tears of joy have flowed down my cheeks as a melody or a sequence of beautiful harmonies poured through me like a mountain stream, effortlessly. How different, in this respect, has music been from writing books, which often demand great effort to make a single, subtle point clear.<\/p>\n

<\/a>*(1)<\/a> Years later, I edited and published his commentary. The book is called, \u201cThe Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Explained, by Paramhansa Yogananda.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In the summer of 1964 I spent a week vacationing at Yosemite National Park, in California. Yosemite must surely be one of the most beautiful places on earth. By an interesting coincidence, it was here I wrote Part One of the present book, during the summer of 1996. My first visit may have been the … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-722","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\nA Place Called Ananda — Chapter 21: I Take Up Writing Music - Swami Kriyananda: Lightbearer<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"A direct disciple of Paramhansa Yogananda tells how he began to share his Guru's message through song.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.yoganandafortheworld.com\/story\/a-place-called-ananda-chapter-21-i-take-up-writing-music\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"A Place Called Ananda — Chapter 21: I Take Up Writing Music - 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