One of the things about art is the almost-magic effect it can have on those who fall under its spell. I’m not a brain researcher, but I’m going to speculate that what happens in that circumstance is akin to when a drug addict gets a fix – everything becomes right.
But I also think it is something else as well. That feeling one gets in a moment of transcendence is a challenge to describe: one is in the moment, experiencing whatever it is – music, a sunset, ballet, the viewing of fine art – as a single focus, where everything seems to resonate at the same frequency of being. In that way, it becomes a non-physical phenomenon. For some, it is a spiritual experience.

With today’s news of Chris Cornell’s death, I put on a queue of Soundgarden to accompany my commutes to and from work. His lyrics, which can be experienced as rather obscure (“Black Hole Sun” can be interpreted about as many ways as there are listeners) took on new sharpness and poignancy.  
On the way home, “Fell On Black Day’s” came on, and, in that moment, I was transported back almost four years to the day, to when I saw them in concert. And I recalled clearly singing (my un-amplified voice not creating any problems for my concert-going neighbors) along with Chris Cornell “I’m only faking, when I get it right”. It is a rather gloomy song lyrically, but the experience was completely uplifting – one of those life-affirming events I attempted to describe above. In the remembering, I could feel the harmonious resonance all over again.
I wish I could tell Chris Cornell about that experience. No doubt, others did, of their own transcendences. The fact that he made art which brought people joy wasn’t enough for him. The fact that he was a husband and a father of two young girls wasn’t enough for him. The fact that he was a beloved rock star, admired by men and an object of desire to women wasn’t enough for him. The fact that he was part of a successful enterprise called Soundgarden, a source of livelihood to his partners in that enterprise wasn’t enough for him. That’s how depression is. It is insidious.  
But I wish there had been someone for him to talk to. Robin Williams too. My friend “r” too. They all gave us so much. I wish we could have been of comfort when they needed a moment of transcendence, a moment to escape their long, black day.