Friday, March 24, 2017

THE SILENCE BENEATH

Underneath the jumble of words you unspool I intuit chasms of silence, a silence that is bursting with sound but sound as light. A momentous glimpse reveals a dazzling, blinding light that overwhelms the retina and becomes its antithesis, sightlessness. A sneak peek into the cavernous sound of your prodigious incandescence is enough to show me the higgledy piggledy conglomeration of the bristly and the saccharine.

Meanwhile your words trace out patterns ...that weave a filament of cobwebby tenuousness . I wish not to be snarled in those layers or pinioned to these threads which, if not understood for their dangerousness, can entwine lovingly around my thorax and squeeze the breath out of me. Or I could cram these words , and with them the spongy spores that stuff my throat into breathlessness and nothingness. Already I measure the paraoxysms of unfocused ness that inundate me , the stertorous grasping for air where soundlessness substitutes the jarring clamour whose din, simultaneously sanguine and abrasive , supplants the meaning that recedes and crashes futilely on these churning foaming waves .

Music, perhaps if you would recompose these cloying words into a melody I could tap tap my assent in accordance with the syncopation. Or a tune , a harmonious blend of sound transmogrified into a thing by itself, an object d art , to be embalmed and lovingly pored over for its own meanings and rhythms which spark of , touch on and send undulating a carillon of inner meanderings and alleyways of the preverbal and somato sensory wherein I glut and gorge on fathomless shores of meaning which needn't require elucidation nor unpicking. A pure inhabitation of being as sound, having as its fulcrum the aria you composed ,straying beyond but yet contained within the limits of the notes cohered into melodious symmetry.

However sound, sight, language , melody splinter. An inevitability underlies the pattern. It is curious that we need this intermediary, these interludes that pull and push the perimeters of the undiscerned and measureless. And the silence that is concealed yet visible at the same time through the interstices of these mediations, is shapeless, featureless, formless . Or perhaps pure light and darkness where the precipice of blankness invariably acclimatizes the eye to the surrounding lineaments as the eye delineates the shapes and forms hitherto unperceived. Or blinded by the clarity that is its own darkness. Meanwhile light, wave, sound are gravid with density, immensity. I could curl into this emptiness and lie suspended . It may be where all journeys may lead to. But for now, these intermittent visitations, stray glimpses suffice. As do your words.

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