In 2018, a hunt team of anthropologists, psychologists, biologists, musicians, and linguists from top universities around the globe confirmed through computational data that “music is the universal language of mankind.”
They then asked people in 60 countries to concentrate on music from 86 societies of hunter-gatherers, horticulturalists, intensive agriculturalists, and pastoralists to work out if they may identify the kind of song.
Music may be a warm wave within the darkness that helps me accommodate pain and sadness and joy, sometimes separately, sometimes all without delay. It plugs me into a universe that’s far beyond my understanding.
At the beginning of stay-at-home orders in March, I used to be separated from my mom, sister, and a few of my closest friends, who were either essential health care workers or living secluded. I used to be lucky to own my husband and small ones, 3 and 5, home with me, and though I cherished the snuggly moments, there have been lots of taxing ones.
I cooked often, played with the children, went outside altogether weather, tried to breathe deeply (or remember to breathe at all), washed my hands until they cracked, and tempered my frustrations with music on tough days. Sometimes it had been peaceful, but mostly it had been chaotic. And music became my thanks to surrendering and coping.
I turned to music over I ever had before and after watching the viral videos of quarantined Italians creating music together from their balconies in March, I remembered Longfellow’s quote. in an exceeding world temporarily empty of physical contact, there was mental and emotional contact — and I felt a part of it. In spite of the harrowing news of the latest deaths and also the inability to work out loved ones, I felt strong and spiritual. I felt wild and calm.