I have been singing for as long as I can remember. My large working-class Irish Catholic family sang always; my many siblings sang the folk music of the 1960s mostly, and in harmony; a wondrous sound to my toddler ears. My mother sang Catholic hymns next to me in church, her voice strong and confident. My dad did laundry singing popular tunes from the 1940s with a spirit so carefree you would have thought he had never known a day of sorrow. It flowed out of all of us like a kind of elevated speech.

When I was fourteen I joined my high school concert choir. This choir was a miracle to me. You see, though my family was musical, I had no formal music training before high school. So those black dots and lines on the page were mysterious to me. I was amazed to discover that when the choir followed those dots correctly we would consistently produce the most marvellous sound! So, my love affair with choral music was born in that choir, and I became a conductor.

A miracle. I use this spiritual word intentionally because my spiritual journey and my musical journey have always been intertwined, perhaps even the same journey. My mother set me on my spiritual path. In her later years she shifted from traditional Catholic piety to a wider, almost mystical wisdom, and she shared this with me. This mystical Christian view and the rich traditions associated with it still inform my spiritual life. As I grew older my lens gradually widened to embrace many more religious practices, until ultimately I came to a Zen meditation practice, with its all-encompassing perspective, its insight into the impermanence of all things, and the idea of no “self.”

Which brings me back to the choir. No “self.” That is what being in a chorus is all about. It begins at the surface. The skills we cultivate during music making— cooperation, listening, pausing, and taking turns—are the same skills that lead to a life filled with love and forgiveness. But it goes deeper than that. A room full of individuals, all with different voices, different sorrows and joys, different disappointments and aspirations, all come together in one place. For a short time, their voices are united. Each individual voice is fused into one sound. The music pours out, and at that moment the listeners too are one with each other and with the chorus. This result comes only as each individual lets go of the “self” and listens and blends their voice with all the other voices. When the music sounds, the imaginary differences that seem to separate us dissolve in the ocean of our connectedness. This is the embodiment of love and forgiveness, and it is what people mean when they talk about the power of music.

This is why I persevere as a conductor. Working every day in music helps me cultivate compassion, love, and forgiveness in my own life. Practicing meditation every day makes me a better conductor and musician because it enables me to set down my ego and the continuous distraction of my thinking. It allows me to be more present and attuned to others, not only in rehearsal and performances, but in all of my life. When I stand in front of my chorus and hear their unified voices raised in song, I know I am hearing the very heart of compassion, the true voice of humanity.