Mozart only composed merry
wind-breakings! Philip Sidney wrote in one of his poems: »Leave me, O Love,
which reachest but to dust; And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things...»
East of Jerusalem, a long road sloapes gradually down between barren hills
sprinkled with occasional Bedouin camps. It sinks 3800 feet, to a depth of
1300 feet below sea-level, and then emerges to give a panoramic vista of
the Jordan Valley. Away to the left, one can discern Jericho.
It was here, in the heart of Israel and of The Middle East, I
found the truth. It was far too ungainly and extensive for one man to
grasp - and least of all by an autodidact and a very imperfect
self-taught man, I might add - so I just left it there. Maybe someone else
could pick it up. I could see it blow away, northwards.
Next time I realized the whole truth and nothing but... was in
Bergen on the Norwegian west-coast. In one of the typical Hansea-houses
from the 14th century in the harbour, it sat smack on the wall beneath a
sign saying: »Methylated spirits! Six bushels for a farthing!» What was I
supposed to do with it? I didn't know and I didn't care! I turned my
walkman on and listened to a Metallica song. No, I knew for a fact that I
had to settle for little truths, such as: Mozart didn't only
compose merry wind-breakings! He only composed wet sneak-farts!