Like in­fi­nite waves, the se­quences spring from the har­mony and cre­ate their own uni­verses.

In their moth­erly wombs the se­quences carry the mo­tifs which in turn, no sooner than they are born, cre­ate their own worlds – but like chil­dren, rather, and with an ir­re­sisti­ble thirst for ex­peri­ence – and they plunge into the floods of the mu­si­cal sound-space, like into the spaces of the cos­mos, to change the course of the stars.

These stars we per­ceive in the in­nu­mer­able over­tone-spec­tra of the tones, each over­tone be­ing a sun of its own.
The mo­tifs make those suns rise and set, and cre­ate in that man­ner the vi­brat­ing, re­ver­ber­at­ing fir­ma­ment of mu­sic, a glimpse of which the com­mon con­cert guest gets some­times.

To the stars in the mu­si­cal fir­ma­ment, to the suns and moons of mu­sic which, revolving as if un­con­scious on their orbits, align with the mo­tifs, to them the mo­tifs as such bear great se­crets.

They awaken the radi­ance of the stars, and this radi­ance looks back to them as the mir­ror-re­flec­tion of their own in­ner mani­fold brilliancy.

So, the over­tones look to­wards the mo­tifs, their ac­tual basis. Focussing com­pletely on the glo­ri­fi­ca­tion of the mo­tifs, they sim­ply pour their light over them from all an­gles.
This gives the mo­tifs the feel­ing of par­entship, an ex­peri­ence which may be com­pared to the at­ti­tude which play­ing chil­dren have to­wards their dolls.

By their in­ner­most es­sence and by their in­ner­most na­ture the mo­tifs, in turn, con­cen­trate com­pletely on their own ori­ginators, the se­quences, the prime moth­ers of mu­sic – which permeate their chil­dren with new life again and again.

To the mo­tifs, the se­quences are their natu­ral home, their uni­verse, their world which sur­rounds them, per­me­ates them, and feeds them al­mightily; and the food the se­quences give to the mo­tifs is the har­mony, that per­fect mu­si­cal world from where the se­quences them­selves are born.

By nour­ish­ing their motif-chil­dren, these prime moth­ers are also nour­ished al­mightily, and their calm and beau­ti­ful faces and the efflorescent na­ture, effervescent with joy, of their chil­dren, the mo­tifs, is what we call the liv­ing beauty of mu­sic.
The power, which un­der­lies this mani­fold beauty, we call the har­mony, or the fa­ther of mu­sic.

For the cog­niz­ing mu­sic lis­tener this spon­ta­ne­ous dis­cov­ery of his own in­ner, crea­tive world is his most in­ti­mate se­cret, and for many a rea­son he will not divulge it to his neighbour.

Now he gains a clear in­ner knowl­edge of his per­sonal po­ten­tial, his gen­ius – some­thing his neighbour might call him, or might even dis­miss him as – and this knowl­edge the crea­tive mu­sic lis­tener shares only with the crea­tive phe­nome­non of the mu­si­cal poet who has ex­em­pli­fied this ex­peri­ence to him in his own life.