Monday, September 29, 2025
Pipe organ building is interesting. Pipe organs are cohabitants with the church or hall in which they are housed. “The room” is arguably the most important component. For humans the same principle applies – roominess.
Several factors make a grand pipe organ splendid. First, the organ is well-built and is in tune. Then, the scaling of each pipe is generous. The larger the diameter of the pipe, the more rich and resounding the sound. Finally, if the room surrounding the organ is spacious, nonabsorbent, and free of clutter, the more alive and grandiose the organ seems.
Organists use terms like “dead acoustic.” Or dull sound. In a dead room, playing the organ is laborious. The organ has no aid. The acoustics suck out what little energy the organ itself produces. Think of lots of carpet, drapes, and a low ceiling. This is how most humans are. No maximization of surrounding, spaciousness and effortless being.
Resplendence and radiance, aliveness and zing, overtones and ping, and zippity-doo-da are enhanced by nothing at all – space. What’s on the inside of a violin, a guitar, or an organ pipe? Zilch, but that’s the secret. Vacuity.
What’s on the so-called inside of a human? Clutter. Low-perceiving minds with dropped ceilings of false limit. Mental cobwebs, a thick carpet of fear, and a draping accentuation of a separate “me,” a foamy deadening agent that kills the overtones and aliveness. Memories and panic, guilt and shame, suppression and separation all deadening the acoustic. A typical human has no resplendence or resonance. Dead.
Generous scaling, large spaces in the heart and body. Emptiness, spaciousness, and perfect tuning and timing. No limit. Amplifying ease through open arms, limitless minds, and no clutter. More space – less work. Rich, resounding, and spine-tingling. What kind of spaciousness have you? The room is dead because the occupant has sucked out the life. But there is no occupant, just an image of one.