An Orchestral Metaphor

I walked, and by my side a man, shining in white robes, guided me with a gentle hand.  We came upon a great cliff, overlooking an endless expanse below, a space that stretched out beyond eye's capacity.  Below, an orchestra covered the ground, blanketing it like heavy snow.  It sprawled, so sheer in size it made tears well up in my eyes and my whole form huddle with wonder.  Instruments, all that are known to man, were being played, from the harps to flutes, violins to bass drums.  I watched the musicians, anonymous faces furrowed in concentration.
My gaze wandered in fascination over the scene, but indeed, most wonderful of the picture was the Conductor, set on a platform high above the orchestra.  He shined, and I realized that no sun shone here, and everything I saw was by Him and His radiance.  The orchestra below performed solely by His light.  He held His baton, poised with natural precision, and conducted in inconceivable, spectacular movements which never wavered and held such a position of logic and divinity as to be paradoxical.
The Conductor smiled, indescribable, as if every one of the players He conducted was His child, one who He delighted in above all.  It filled my heart, my very soul with ecstatic, fantastical joy.
"My Father," said the man beside me, gesturing to the Conductor.  "The Great Conductor."
It was at this moment I realized a curious fact.  Surprised, I gazed down again at the uncountable number of instruments, all in use, fingers on strings, pressing stops, mouths blowing through reeds.
"Why!" I exclaimed.  "There is no music.  None at all."
"There is music," said the Conductor's son.  "You cannot hear it, for it would destroy."
"But the sound," I protested.  "The sound must be incredible."  I looked with longing at the orchestra, and at the Conductor, for anything under the guidance of Him must surely be perfection.
My guide looked on me with love and compassion.  "I will let you hear a small portion, so that you will understand," he said.  He placed his hands to my ears.
I listened, holding my breath.  First, silence, but then a note swept into existence, long and clear, bowed from a violin.  All at once, the music crashed in around me.  Whatever I had expected, it was not what I heard.  The music weighed on me, an unbearable yoke of sound.  The flow of the melodies moved like liquid over me, saturated with such sorrow, despair, and loss that my entire body began to tremble.  The great pitch of sound swelled, louder and louder, deafening and defeating.  Through it all, from melancholy harmonies to tragic rhythms, I could hear instruments harsh and out of tune.  The screech of a wayward violin, the wobble of a dissonant oboe, the shrill squeak of a cracked flute.  Notes rushed in, their voices quick and fleeting, and notes were held far beyond the time they were meant, drawn out to long disarray.  My very existence could not cope with the vast, woeful sounds.  But for all its ugliness, it captivated something inside me, deep within me something surged up.   
It was horrible, but it was beautiful.
My soul sang with it, and I wept into my guide's shoulder.  He took his hands away from my ears, and the music faded away.
"How does He bear it?" I cried, staring at the Conductor, standing in the midst of all that terrible, wonderful sound.  "How does He bear it?"          
"Because He loves.  My Father loves each one of those players, unconditionally and forever.  He has written out a Part for each and every one, He has delicately structured their instruments and He wrote the Great Score for them.  But they try to rewrite it, or change it, or play their own melody entirely.  Most of them do not even look up to see that they have a Conductor, and they perpetually play the Broken Song.  If they would only look up...
"But my Father knows the plans He has.  He will create a New Score, soon.  For the melody heard is nothing compared to what is coming - the melody both heard and unheard, where Perfection shall play in the Heavens, and even the unbound stars shall sing."
I looked again on the endless sea of faces down below.  Everywhere, heads turned down and away from the Conductor, and I realized, with an ache in my heart, that many of them wept at the ground with dark eyes turned away from the light.
And above it all, the baton swung in divine motion. 
As I watched, the Conductor turned and looked at me, directly into my eyes, and I found my surroundings melting away.  I was in the orchestra, a violin in my hands, among the grand and sorrowful melody, contributing my own soul to the Great Score.  But I kept my eyes on the Conductor, and I let His hands guide me, and I played for Him.  I magnified His melody and it brought me joy surpassing all understanding.  This was but a practice, a preparation for the New Score, for a much greater melody, written by the Conductor for all who sought to play in the Orchestras of Heaven. 
Behold, this is true love.