"The Still, Sad Music of Humanity"

. . . For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue . . .--William Wordsworth, "Tintern Abbey"

I have heard that Zen Buddhists believe that the world, and humanity's presence in it, are like music, and thus the purpose of enlightenment is to attune ourselves to this music, to which most of us, in our unawakened state, are largely deaf. I have been thinking about this trope for some time. As in any musical work, there movements: movements of spritely joy and playfulness, of pomp and grandeur or harrowing sublimity, of heart-wringing pathos. But I ask, what if the music of the world begins to strike the mournful chords of a requiem--a requiem to a life buried in the past, as my life with my ex-wife is? What music is there to play after the tribute to the dearly departed? Isn't it then that the music should cease with the last doleful notes?

I feel as if I am an audience member who, fearing the silence of the soon-to-be empty hall, lingers long after the maestro's last bow and the end of the applause, demanding that the orchestra reprise the overture as a way of denying to himself the finality which the requiem signals.