Tchaikovsky came on the radio and I was stunned at how completely realized and original his conception seemed, as if instead of composing it, he had merely transcribed it from some celestial source. Artists often talk about being a funnel for their muse, about having had no say in the creation of their masterpiece.

But what if this were true? What if esthetic creation at this level were actually a kind of turning on a higher dimensional radio and listening to another world?

Do you ever wonder what wild animals think when field zoologists sneak up and try to mimic them so as to become accepted by the group? It might not sound authentic, but it might be quite beautiful nevertheless. It might sound like Tchaikovsky.