Peter Hallock

Peter Hallock, composer, performer, mystic, philosopher, and church musician, died yesterday afternoon at the age of 89. He died peacefully within moments of returning to his beloved home in Fall City, Washington. He was my closest friend and mentor of 25 years. What follows is a letter to him as he rests beyond the grave.

Hallock, baby!

Well, you did it! You’ve merged with the Light and are now a part of that great numinousness that you’ve always tried to communicate through your music. What’s it like? Your astounding ability to communicate, through your music and through our countless conversations has awakened me to the profundity of that cosmic mystery; how glorious to think that you are now part of it. When I opened my eyes this morning, and the sun was pouring into my room, my very first thought was that you had enjoyed helping the sun up, out of its cradle, this morning – You, whose face always epitomized the radiance of the sun. When you left us, did you take one last cosmic journey over Mount Ranier – that place that you dearly loved? You always told me that you were a mountain man, and today I seem to understand that even more than before. And what about those sublime and fertile hills of the English countryside, and Canterbury Cathedral which formed you both musically and spiritually, did you take a farewell trip over those places to get one final blessing from that beauty? Or do I have it backwards? Perhaps it was you, yourself, blessing those places, that makes them so soul-enriching for the rest of us.

Now that you’re on the other side, I find that I want to pummel you with questions: What are the secrets to gardening that perfect Japanese garden? Have you met Bach yet? You’re probably still in the “Welcome to heaven” stage, but I’ll bet you made a bee-line for John Donne. And you, who were the logical extension of French impressionistic music, must have been eagerly welcomed and thanked by Debussy, Ravel, and Duruflé. Am I right? But, knowing you as the introvert, I daresay you’ve opted to take your time with all of these things, and absorb the enormity of just where you are – right to the depths of your being.

And just what is your “being” now? On the one hand, I clearly sense your presence, and on the other hand, I deeply lament your passing from my sight. I look out my window at redwood trees, the sunrise kissing the mountains in the distance, the lichen-covered, ancient oak-tree out the back window, and they all seem to speak your name. How did you do that?

You know the old adage: You don’t know what you’ve got ’till it’s gone. Happily the two of us did, indeed, know “what we’ve got.” Our friendship is, as we often commented, one of those rare gifts of grace. It’s one of those friendships that only come once in a lifetime, and that, only if you’re lucky. We were lucky! Thank heavens neither of us had hang-ups about being able to say how deeply we loved each other. Our mutual support of each other’s charisms has blessed me beyond my wildest dreams. And although we were a generation apart, you were my Tom Sawyer, and I your Huck Finn.

We are no longer a generation apart, you and me, for where you are, there is no time; and where you still meet me, in the splendor of nature, in numinous music, in my meditations, I can join you in timelessness. Yet, at this very moment, my heart is broken open in grief. I yearn to listen to the music of Tallis right now, to your psalm settings, to men singing plainsong.

The older I get, the more I’m convinced that no two people can truly understand each other; the mystery of existence only moves in the direction of greater depth. Can we even understand ourselves? No, not on this plane. But how much gratitude I’m feeling that you helped me understand life, divinity, and beauty more than I possibly could have had I never met you. Blessed is the day we met!