Music is one of life’s overlooked basic necessities. As a non-prescription tranquilizer, it soothes the savage beast in almost all of us. It allows the chance to commiserate with the singer’s frame of mind and alleviates the feelings of loneliness in our individual predicaments. Perhaps we utilize the power of music as a diversion from reality; it is a rhythmic escape from disorder. We are offered the opportunity to take a temporary refrain from standardized thinking and allow for the brain to wander into unexplored domain. A peculiar phenomenon happened to me and taught me something I would never have known otherwise.

While listening to an album of an all-time favorite singer, I made an interesting observation about myself. I was blocking out all background music and concentrating entirely on his voice alone. I realized that I regarded the music as purely a distraction from this wonderful, wonderful voice; the voice I could envision myself falling in love with. Based on this notion, the following idea was entertained.

If only his voice had the ability to come to life and embrace me with all that it promises through his song. The rehearsed words could somehow become programmable truths to the voice. His voice alone would be all the man to ever hope and long for, require and desire. Living purely deep within my heart, tantalizing my body and soul, there would be no pain, sadness, or sorrow. Perhaps only a slight emptiness, a small sacrifice to endure. I’d have total oneness with the voice; the voice that makes and keeps promises no man ever could. Well-trained in perfection, I’d write the words, lines, and songs. The voice would memorize, believe, and sing them. I’d believe them.

Knowing I could never hold the voice, or, have it hold me tighter that any man ever has, I might be compelled to search for the man behind the voice. Running toward him, I stumble and fall to my knees. I reach up, desperately clinging to him, believing in him, as I believed his every word. Capturing my image of Heaven, not certain if I were still on earth.

If the man and his voice were torn apart, divided and not repairable, which one would I choose? Caught between them, I grasp the man’s hand and listen to the voice. Each of them wanting me, pulling me. The man, with his hand. The voice, with its promise. I cannot touch the voice, however, the man cannot promise what the voice does. I gently release the man’s hand from mine. Because the promise of a touch through song holds more hope than the touch of a man who holds no promise.

A voice can make promises. However, the man behind the voice may not always keep them. I must sacrifice perfection if I select the man. If I desire uncompromising perfection, I must choose the voice. We must each acknowledge our priorities and draw our own conclusions. As for the wise decision, it’s not for me to say.

On second thought, it IS for me to say; it just dawned on me. Although the man can cause me irreparable heartbreak, he may instead shower me with abundant happiness.

All the voice can offer is predictable consistency. I would be so wrong to release the man’s hand from mine. Clearly, the voice has no heart; it can never love me. Joyfully, the man can.