Here's a pianist doing "Boston".
He's not the very best, and he calls himself "The Fingers of God". Sounds pretentious, but watching it I don't know. Pretty music always gets to me and makes me believe there's maybe something more, and watching it being made puts me in awe.
And then as I watched, I started thinking. The piano, the design, its wires, even the varnish on it are all the combination of hundreds of thousands of butterfly effects and intersections of genius, work, inspiration, and coincidence.
And there's the music itself, the imagining and fashioning of it. The concept of notation, so others can play it. The music is written on paper, with ink, then printed with machines, hauled with trucks- more millions of butterflies.
Then the hands, the tendons and muscles, the eyes and ears.
So I suppose they are the fingers of God. How can there be such tiny, and at the same time immense, greatness at random?
Then what are the bulldozers of Kivumu?
I suppose I'll go on like this until I find out.
But it's still a pretty song.