According to both the Book of Genesis and the Koran, God said, “Be!” and the world became. Now we gaze at the stars and plains and seas and marvel, but perhaps we do not realize that the miracle of creation has never ceased; to create is in the nature of the Creation. The humble ant, with endless energy, constructs elaborate cities, and birds build nests of extraordinary ingenuity, no two quite the same. As for humans, the ever-expanding wave of God’s will propels us still further, into the realm of ‘making in order to make’, when we fashion ingenious tools to foster further creation – such as the astonishing variety of musical instruments the world has devised.

By itself a musical instrument means little, but when it serves as a pathway for the spirit of a musician, one who has inspiration and the skill to explore its possibilities, it can lift us toward the abstract realms of beauty where all music originates. Therefore, it is not surprising that for many musicians their instrument is more than precious to them; it is sacred. They care for it with tenderness and devotion, and they turn to it in moments of deep feeling to express their joy or console their sorrow. With that in mind, we could think again about the place of the human being in creation when we read this saying of Hazrat Inayat Khan from The Bowl of Saki (November 24): God is within you; you are His instrument, and through you He expresses Himself to the external world.

Humans differ from musical instruments in one point, and that is that we are capable of adjusting ourselves, so as to be more fit for the Musician, but what does that mean? What can we do to make ourselves better instruments? Can we be more responsive? Then, to what should we respond? Is there a particular ‘note’ we are meant to sound? And if so, how do we discover it? How do we tune ourself?

The way in which a musical instrument is shaped can teach us a great deal about ourselves. Music makes the air vibrate, and almost all instruments embrace within themselves some empty space that permits the vibrations to resound and become more audible. The hollow gourd that forms a veena is an example. But many human beings are rather full of themselves, to put it plainly, and so not very resonant. To serve as an instrument, we must make space within ourselves – by emptying our heart of self. Then the voice ‘that constantly cometh from within’ starts to become discernible, and God’s expression begins to show. That is the truth expressed in this saying from the Bowl of Saki (November 22): It is not the solid block of wood that can become a flute; it is the empty reed.

To become empty, though, is not yet sufficient to satisfy the wish of the Musician; to play the desired notes, the reed must also be pierced. To shape a reed a knife or a burning ember might be used, but in human terms it is pain that opens the heart, as we find in this Aphorism: If it were not for pain, life would be most uninteresting, for it is by pain that the heart is penetrated.

No doubt it requires patience to endure the knocks and sorrows that fall upon us, but life will always bring us difficulties, whether we walk a spiritual path or not. Therefore the wise person turns the poison to wine in recognising that each pain is the removal of a cover over the heart, and that is how we may in time become instruments fit for the breath of God.