When I was 14, I joined a record club. Such clubs are the “ancient” precursors of iTunes and downloads. I was prompted to select my favorite musical categories to receive “albums” in the mail. I had great difficulty selecting a musical category. At 14, I enjoyed European classical, Jazz, Rock, Rhythm and Blues, Reggae, Blues, Opera, Country and Gospel music. I checked all the categories. When the music arrived a few weeks later, I was thrilled; I could listen to a variety of musical selections for hours. Not much has changed for me. Music is still a balm for almost anything that ails me. I remember “conducting” my imaginary orchestra when Beethoven’s Fifth played; the booming sounds made me feel empowered as a skinny teenager. Ravel’s Bolero was so enlivening that I’m sure my blood pressure was elevated during the magnificent crescendo. I rocked to Reggae and Bob Marley, and danced with the sultry tones of BB King. Dina Washington’s voice was impeccable, and Nina Simone sometimes made me cry for reasons that escaped me at the time. A Puccini aria could touch my heart in a way that Mahalia Jackson could touch my soul. Miles Davis, John Coltrane and Dizzy Gillespie played as often as Duke Ellington and Aretha Franklin, and over time Prince and Anita Baker pulled at other heart strings. John P. Kee and James Cleveland inspired me with powerful Gospel music, and Miriam Makeba or Hugh Masekela connected me longingly to South Africa. Music sat with me like a close friend and stayed with me through growing pains, college, marriage and divorce. Music lifted me out of valleys during sad times, and calmed me during too much stress. Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway spoke on my behalf, while Tchaikovsky orchestrated my escape from an ordinary life. Now the CDs and downloads fill my inner “cyberspace,” and environmental sounds and Watercolors Jazz on satellite radio get me patiently through traffic. Singing bells and other meditative music will sometimes accompany my meditation, and Keiko Matsui ,Boney James or Adele may fill the hours as I work in my home office.  Music is an awareness of Spirit, a precious combination of sounds and silence that caresses our ears and then travels throughout the universe like a life-giving wave. When the music plays, my inner being welcomes the sounds of the experience and invites the pulsations to stay as long as possible.  But when the music inevitably ends, the silence remains, a testament to the residual nature of joy. If we want to hear the sound of Spirit, we can listen not only to the music, but also to the pregnant, life-giving silence between the notes, and sense the depth of the present moment.