Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field - I’ll meet you there
Communities come in many forms.
A little over a year ago, my dear friend Phill asked if I wanted to join two of his friends (and one of their friends) in a five-person group aptly — and simply — called Music Friends. Naturally, being a music nerd, I jumped at the chance.
The community is straightforward. In a WhatsApp group, each of us has an assigned day of the week. On our day, we share an album we enjoy or find interesting, along with a short note on what it means to us.
Through this, we get to experience music we’ve never heard before, or we revisit albums we already love — and in those moments, we get to geek out with someone who loves the same sound. (The sweet, self-indulgent glow of confirmation bias!)
I’ve never met three of the other people in the group. So in that sense, it’s a pretty unique kind of community — especially for someone like me, a child of the ’80s with a mild aversion to the virtual world. But communities come in many forms. And this one is, without fail, a highlight of my week.
This morning, Andrew shared First Mind by Nick Mulvey — a gorgeous album I’ve treasured for years. Even more so after a dear friend once told me they know Nick personally and described him as a beautiful human being. I hadn’t listened to it in a while, and hearing it again drew me straight back to my favourite song on the album: Meet Me There. It was inspired by a Rumi poem.
Just 42 words, written over 800 years ago, that still hold a message so essential, so pure, it feels like a quiet key to a better world:
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’ doesn’t make any sense.
In a group of “Music Friends,” where the shared value is a supersonic nerd-level love of music, it would be easy to get into disagreements about what’s good or bad. Just browse any subreddit dedicated to a beloved artist — the people come together because they love the same music, but somehow, a disproportionate amount of energy gets spent tearing apart others’ tastes. Often aggressively. Sometimes amusing. More often, just sad.
And yet, in our little group, that never happens. Because this kind of community isn't about winning the argument or proving your taste — it’s about sharing what moves you.
And maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe community, in its truest form, is just the space where we meet each other beyond the right and the wrong of things — in the field, in the music, in the listening.
One example of the chaos:
From the subreddit, “WestSubEver"
Which is why it’s such a joy to be part of a community where, once a day, I get to experience the music someone else loves — without anything but an open mind and a genuine curiosity for what matters to them. That, to me, is community. And community, at its best, is joy.
It’s not about being right or wrong. It’s about honest togetherness — sharing something that carries meaning, even if it’s not your taste. Of course, some albums don’t quite land. But that’s part of the fun. I love how two people’s musical Venn diagram can overlap almost entirely, yet still include entire genres — or even specific albums — that completely miss each other’s radar.
Imagine if we could carry that same energy into all the communities we belong to:
Where we live.
Where we work.
Where we govern.
Our town centres. Our trains.
And maybe, the place of peak chaos… our roads.
I’ll leave you with a final line of Rumi, and a reminder of why joy has always been — and always will be — the foundation of building a better world:
For we live in the kingdom of joy.
Do not give your heart to anything else but to the love of those who are clear joy.
Do not stray into the neighbourhood of despair.
Thank you for reading, great blessings, and take care. May your light shine!
Benjamin