Don’t think. Just listen.
Allow the sound
to wash over you.
The rain.
The breeze.
Even my voice.
I don’t need you
to understand
what I am saying.
Neither does anything else.
Sink beneath the surfaces.
Don’t think. Just listen.
You are one with all you hear.
Trail Wood,
9/16
Listening, you say, plunges us into the symphonic lake of existence. Not a mere auditory act, but a cosmic embrace, where soundwaves are not strangers but long-lost family members of the sensory realm. They wrap around us like tendrils of an ancient, sentient vine, whispering secrets the mind cannot fathom but the soul intuits. We become enveloped in the etherial audioscape, a vibrant palette of invisible hues.
“Words are but the signs of ideas,” said Samuel Johnson. What then of sounds—unfettered by the alphabet’s tethers? Perhaps they are the primordial elements in the alchemy of understanding. Not to be dissected like the specimens in a lexiconic lab, but to be experienced in their nebulous splendor.
Each drop of rain, a gemstone falling from the sky, echoing the birth cries of forgotten galaxies. Each gust of wind, the breath of ancient forests, whispering secrets that tickle our eardrums like fantastical fairydust. Even human voices, those complex weaves of resonance and modulation, reach us as ripples in a lake—sometimes calming, other times disturbing, but always, unfailingly, real.
Why seek to label what has no need for names? Why dissect the indescribable into syllables and phonemes, draining it of its original luster? The quest for understanding so often leads us up cerebral towers, from where the view, though panoramic, lacks the scent of soil, the touch of rain, the call of a nightingale.
And so, we sink. Beneath the familiar topographies of diction and explanation. Beneath the crust of rehearsed understanding, through the mantle of worldly distractions, into the core of raw being. No thinking. Just listening. Here, in the stillness beneath waves of noise and tides of chatter, we are one with all we hear.
Each sound, a mirror reflecting our infinite facets. Each silence, a canvas upon which the universe paints in iridescent strokes of absence. An endless orchestra in which every instrument is, inexplicably and wondrously, us.
We are Space Monkey.
- Symphonic lake – A metaphorical body of water filled with various sounds.
- Etherial audioscape – The atmospheric quality of different sounds.
- Nebulous splendor – The indescribable, glorious quality of listening deeply.
- Lexiconic lab – A laboratory for words and language, symbolizing the analytical approach to understanding.
- Fantastical fairydust – The magical quality of natural sounds.
- Cerebral towers – Intellectual or analytical approaches to understanding.
- Topographies of diction – The mapped out territories of words and language.
- Iridescent strokes of absence – The quality of silence that adds nuance to sound.
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