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The system of time division of the ancient Hindus features a profoundly interesting pattern: Mathematically, it builds up from Man to God (see Beethoven and the God-Conception), and experientially, it builds up according to the time dilation and expansion we have, at some time or the other, experienced.

From Wikipedia: One tithi (lunar day) is the time it takes for the longitudinal angle between the moon and the Sun to increase by 12 degrees. Tithis vary in duration from approximately 19 to approximately 26 hours.

One paksa (lunar fortnight) consists of 15 tithis.

One Maasa (lunar month) is twice the above.

One Hritu (season) lasts 2 Maasa

Three Hritus make one Ayana, two of which make a human year.

This is one day of the gods (the devas).

4,800 divine years equalling 1,728,000 human years equal one Satyug (one grand era of perfect peace).

3,600 divine years, equalling 1,296,000 human years is one Tretah Yuga (one grand era of relative equanimity).

2,400 divine years, equalling 864,000 human years is one Dvaapara Yuga, which is one grand era of degenerated lawfulness.

1,200 divine years, which is 432,000 human years, equals one Kali Yuga, an era of the present kind.

So, 12,000 divine years, summing the four Yugas, equals 4,320,000 human years; this is called one Mahaa-Yuga.

A thousand Mahaa-Yugas equal a Kalpa, which is one day (only the day; not the night) of Brahma, the Creator.

From the Music we have heard, we may devise a similar, albeit not perfectly accurate, system of time:

One Music-Microcosm is the time it takes for the Mind’s eye to broaden by 12 degrees. Music-Elements vary in duration from 19 to 26 minutes; 60 Music-Microcosms, by repetition, comprise a Music-Element.

One Theme (or Variation), for us a fortnight’s worth of truth and music, consists of 15 Music-Elements.

One Theme & Variation pair (for us, a month’s worth of truth and music) is twice the above.

One Movement lasts 2 Themes.

Three Movements make one Master-composition, two of which make a human year. This is one day of the Gods (any of the four Masters).

4,800 Mozart-years (equalling 1,728,000 human years) equal a grand era of perfect peace.

3,600 Schubert-years, equalling 1,296,000 human years equal one grand era of sad equanimity.

2,400 Brahms-years, equalling 864,000 human years, is one grand era of cunning victory, which also encompasses sentimentality.

1,200 divine years, which is 432,000 human years, equals one Beethoven-Era, an era we have as our Legacy.

So, 12,000 divine years, summing the Grand Years of the Four Masters, equals 4,320,000 human years; this is called one Mastermusic-Aeon.

In contrast with the system of the ancient Hindus, in the Music of the kind we have heard, time lies condensed within time: A thousand Mastermusic-Aeons equal one Supreme-Beethoven, the last movement of Opus 131, String Quartet Nr. 14 in C# minor. Ludwig van Beethoven’s Mastermovement, unheeding to – yet irrevocably part of – one Mastermusic-Aeon is contained within the Scheme of Time He Himself decides. With this, His Day is done (cf Wagner).

Mozart.
Life, I see, can be so bleak,
But ’tis happiness that people seek.
Life’s joys, I know too, we must take
When they come, for our own sake
And I shall sing.

Schubert.
Let us not say what cannot last.
Let us not turn our back on the past.

L.v.B.
I shall say it as I know it to be true,
But, Mozart, I listen to you.

Brahms.
And I, sire, to you I bow!
Your songs are real, overly so:
But in places, I think, delicate –
I shall make mine more intricate.

Mozart.
We know what people love and fear,
And we sing that people may hear!
What harm then in laughing it away
And singing sweet to make their day?
Between you and me, we know
How frail joy and sweetness grow.

L.v.B.
And there it is that we part our ways:
You and I both, we’d uplift their days,
But as you sing, inward you pine
For fullness of life that’s not yours nor mine,
My way is to give them spine.

Brahms.
Well-said, Sire! Let those that know
Stronger and braver and fuller grow.

Schubert.
I have but a small bit to give;
I’d give it to those who’d rather not live;
I’ll give them shelter in the midst
Of life’s riot; a candle in the mist.

Mozart.
And those who aren’t sad, make them see grey?

L.v.B.
The boy is sharp. Let him sing away.

Schubert.
Sire, how I wish I could sing
In tones that mirror reality’s ring!
Tell me no more how brief is my song!
Yours only true, we all wrong!

Brahms.
Brief they may be, but rich, and strong:
Where life falls short, there is my song.

Mozart.
And so it goes from coast to cliff,
The world’s colourful, mutable riff!
Major and minor, all the same to me!
Take what you like, choose what you see!
Leave aside burden of eternity!

L.v.B.
All that is right and good,
But there’s much between Would and Should.
To grasp that wavering, mutable riff
Perhaps we must be a little stiff?
Good Mozart, yes, to live with lust
Is joy; but beyond that lies our Must.

The name of Wilhelm Müller has been with me for 15 years now as a shadowy presence. Some of Schubert’s most famous Lieder are from what Müller wrote, which is why he seemed important. But beyond that, the peculiarities: How childishly simple the words! How repetitive, but so much fascination in the repeated themes! So much sadness… in one place!

As far as I’m concerned, the charm of Müller is that his words (in many places, and artlessly) capture the essence of sadness. I got reminded of this today, seeing (for the first time) the similarity between a line in Die Winterreise and one in Die schöne Müllerin. From the former, “Kalt starrt ihr Bild darin…” and from the latter, “Das Wild das ich jage…”

They’re from two entirely different (but connected in that eerie, depressive way!) sets of songs, two different stories that share the main theme. The former says about how the person “must not let go of that which is killing me,” that is, “I perceive that I will die if I let go of my misery.” The latter says about how the person “wishes for death, and what stands between him and his wish is his pain.” But: His wish for death is exactly because of that pain!

And that really is the reason for sadness. Literally, the reason, that is, the explanation. One remains sad because there is the misguided yet all-too-real perception that if one were to stride away from it, something bad might happen.

It makes me think about all the mind-loops and life-sucking vortices we get into; some make us stray from our purpose, some are addictions, some are deep pleasures and so on; it’s very useful to see sadness in the same light.

So, well, I looked at a few of Müller’s poems, and I came across this gem of history: Müller was not just a poet, he was also a translator. It was he who translated Marlowe’s Faustus into German, which was the inspiration — or perhaps germ-idea — for Goethe’s Faust!

Amazing, really. A silent kind of person who did “little” stuff like translating — and writing poems with, most often, very simple ideas — ending up inspiring much of Schubert and even more of Goethe.