In India, musicians often observe a very beautiful custom: after all the practical arrangements have been dealt with, such as the placement of microphones and cables and checking the sound, and putting bottles of water in readiness, and after the instruments have been tuned, the principal artist will address the host or most senior person present, including any artist of superior standing, and ask their permission to begin. Said permission is always graciously granted, but only then does the artist strike the first note.

Every courtesy is a cover over something deeper; it is when we lose sight of the inner sense that such forms lose their value, and are then regarded as merely pointless superficialities. In this case, there are several fine threads of meaning delicately intertwined. One, first though not necessarily foremost, is that the artist has come to the venue because he has been called by the host, and to ask permission is to acknowledge the generosity and grace that has made the moment possible. It gives a certain dignity to the moment.

Another thread is that when the art of music is considered sacred, attitude is of utmost importance. A worshiper lacking the proper attitude, who does not leave his or her self at the door of the sanctuary, might as well not bother with the ritual of worship, and a musician lacking the proper attitude, who uses their art for self proclamation, is far from the sacred ideal. This is not to say that all musicians in India are saints – far from it! But there are enough who do regard their art as sacred so that this custom has meaning. What is more, those who do offer their art to the Divine receive rewards from there that others cannot imagine.

And that is also reflected in the guru-shishiya tradition by which music is taught in India. This means a transmission from teacher or guru to student in a religious context, with the result that the student is intensely conscious of having received the benefits of many generations of devoted study. Again, the transmission is not only of the knowledge of forms and techniques, but also of the inner attitude that gives the forms life. A musician who asks the host for permission is respecting the host, certainly, but also his own lineage, which may stretch back over a dozen generations or more.

We could approach our own daily practice with the same attitude. After attending to the practical details, whatever they may be – candle, incense, opening a window, putting the phone on silent mode, and so on – we could tune ourselves to the silence, and then, before we begin, ask permission. In this stream, that would most likely mean appealing to Hazrat Inayat Khan, acknowledging that whatever we are about to do – our prayers, our breath practices, our sacred repetitions and so on – have come to us by his grace and his efforts to help the world. As he says in Gayan Gamakas, “I have not come to change humanity; I have come to help it on.” Therefore asking his permission at such a moment is not only good training for the ego, but will surely attract many blessings for our work.