It is absurd to suppose, simply because our private power of
sympathetic vibration with other lives gives out so soon, that
in the heart of infinite being itself there can be such a thing as plethora, or glut, or supersaturation.
So long as it sounds some ground note of reality — even a random, extraneous ground note, like that of the Weinstein scandal — it can build up a ringing tower of
sympathetic vibrations that you'd swear were symphonic, if they didn't hang
in the air like ghosts.