August Rush is about a boy who is a musical genius. He doesn't know who doesn't know who his parents are but knows that the music will lead him to them and them to him. He knows that music is their connection, and music is everything. “You know what music is? God`s little reminder that there`s something else besides us in this universe, a harmonic connection between all living beings, everywhere, even the stars.”
For August Rush, music is everywhere... “Listen. Can you hear it? The music. I can hear it everywhere...in the wind...in the air...in the light. It`s all around us. All you have to do is open yourself up. All you have to do...is listen.”
Right now, I am listening...and I can hear it. I can hear it in the click of the keys and the hum of my laptop fan. I can hear it in waves from the air conditioner. I can hear it in the rustling of the blinds, in my feet rubbing against the wall. I can hear it in the cars rushing by outside, and the train nearby. I can hear it in the imagined sounds floating on the air.
August said, “Where I've grown up, they tried to stop me from hearing the music. But when I'm alone it builds up from inside me. And I think if I could learn how to play it, they might hear me. They would know I was theirs...and find me.” My situation is slightly different. Where I went to college, they tried to stop me from hearing the music. Three auditions for the music program—my greatest wish—proved a fruitless cause. Their rejection letters told me I didn’t cut it. The faces of the music students told me I was undeserving, that they were the ones who deserved to hear and make music, not me. But when I’m alone, it builds up from inside me. And I think if I could learn how to really play it, to summon it, to embody it, they might hear me. They would know I was theirs...and find me. Who are “they”? Anyone who would know my soul...my dearest friends...my perfect match...anyone to whose life I might bring the gift of music. “They” are more than people who might know me. They are the music themselves...the muses, the rhythms, the notes, the chords, the harmonies...if I could learn how to call it, the music might hear me. It might know I belong to it and find me.
And maybe that has been my problem. August “[believed] in music the way that some people believe in fairy tales.” I lost my wholehearted faith in music to lift me up, to rescue me while troubled, to save me from the difficulties of life and set me free as it always used to. When I failed to qualify for the music program at school, I doubted music and I doubted myself. But as August’s father told him, “You never quit on your music. No matter what happens. Cuz anytime something bad happens to you, that's the one place you can escape to and just let it go. I learned that the hard way. And anyway, look at me. Nothing bad's gonna happen. You gotta have a little faith.” I shouldn’t have doubted music, or even my own ability to make it. I should never have given up on it because anytime something bad happens to me—anytime someone tells me that I shouldn’t try to make music—music is the one place I can escape to and just let it go. I need to have a little faith.
When asked how the music comes to him, August responded, “I just hear it. Sometimes I wake up and it's there...or I hear it when I'm walking down the street. It's like someone's calling out to me. Writing it all down is like I'm calling back to them, the ones who gave me the music.” I haven’t been listening for the music, but I am listening now, and I can hear it. I can feel it, like a rushing in my heart, like waves crashing on the sea, like sunlight radiating inside me. It’s like someone’s calling out to me. I have to find a way to answer back, to channel this gift into a way to call back to them.
“Listen. Can you hear it? The music. I can hear it everywhere...in the wind...in the air...in the light. It`s all around us. All you have to do is open yourself up. All you have to do...is listen.”
