Driving home on a rainy day, Lorna was rear-ended by a truck just before the woman playing Rosina in Act I of the Barber of Seville was to sing. The impact was sudden and stunning. "But even as I entered a world of shock and pain, I found a world of bliss and order. I listened to the aria and fifteen minutes of the opera as firemen tried to free me from the wreckage of my car." Though told she had been unconscious until she was in the ambulance, she remembered listening to Rosina's voice throughout the ordeal. "My spirit stayed with my body. The music kept me alive. I was able to listen and stay conscious, alert, and at peace with the music. ... From the beginning of that aria, I knew I had to finish the opera of my life."
A stillness descended upon the room, and in the heart of that stillness was something beyond the power of mere language to describe. I felt we were being given a glimpse of the underlying unity of all things, and that this harmony -- though no metaphor was adequate to describe that singing silence -- was enfolding us so that we were wholly in tune not only with one another, but with a healing presence at the very centre of our being.
The moment passed, but I thought of the disciples on the road to Emmaus and how they had recognized the stranger in the breaking of the bread.