“Music, Healing and the Spirit”

Over all my years of endeavoring to heal, I have found time and again that I cannot work with

The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds.*

For music is the mother, and such a man has rejected her. He has no desire for the conciliation which is, I believe, the very essence of my work.

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“The True Musician: Inspired by Orpheus”

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.                                                 Yeats                                                 (“The Lake Isle of Innisfree”) It is said that Orpheus preached with song.
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“God is…”

God is Brahms, Brahms is God, and Schnabel, and the piano,
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“The Role of the Performer – and How to Achieve It”

Everyone needs to be healed – to be made whole. To be utterly one with the Soul within. And it is, I maintain, the primary role of the performer to find the Soul of the composer and reveal it to the audience, that they may be better able to find their own.
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“Music is Healing – and Healing is Music”

Every day in my meditation, I place my hands over my thymus and pray:                         Help me                         to help You                         to heal.
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“Monteux and the Spirit World”

As he lay dying, the great conductor Pierre Monteux stated, “When I see Brahms, I must apologize to him for the way I have played his beautiful music.”
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Video: A Song of Love

Dr. Diamond shares a therapeutic song, a setting of Lewis Carroll's beautiful poem "A Song of Love," an example of the compositional process he calls lilting. This poem gets to the heart of what Dr. Diamond terms Matrophilia, the love of the mother, the foundation of his work.
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“As in Life, So in Music”

“It’s All in the Music” is the title of the book by Doris Monteux of her husband Pierre, the great conductor.
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“Music’s Greatest Power”

I believe that Music can be the tipping point that transposes the ratio so that the sufferer is now more Matrophilial than matrodeimal.
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“Reflections on Sibelius”

For the last thirty years of his life Sibelius, whom I so love, composed almost nothing. What was he hearing? What was he feeling?
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