It was morning, and the new sun sparkled gold across the ripples of a gentle sea
“It was morning, and the new sun sparkled gold across the ripples of a gentle sea.” ― Richard Bach
For two days in a row the crack of dawn was announced by the grinding and whirring of machinery. But what was this machinery doing?
The sleepy consciousness of the human who was awoken by the sound simply asked – Is this a threat I must become awake to deal with or can I go back to sleep?
Go back to sleep, was the answer, it’s just the farmer doing what farmers do.
And so the brain went back to sleep and dreamed dreams.
Then, when the time had come, the human awoke. The noise was still there, sometimes loud, sometimes louder, sometimes off in a distant distance. A soundtrack to life. There, but not there.
I probably should not share what I’m about to share… the mind says No, and the rest of me says F-it! My body, in years spent on Earth is at the age of F-it. Silence and secrecy has not rewarded me with the treasures it promised… blurting stuff out on the other hand… sweet precious release from censored silence.
“You have the freedom to be yourself, your true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way”.” ― Richard Bach
Occasionally a friend makes the trek to visit me in my cramped rural castle (it’s not a castle, but F-it!). Once a friend brought a skunk… I mean skunk, not a skunk. And although I’m not a taker of drugs, not even legal ones, because my body doesn’t integrate them well, I am a partaker of curiosity, sometimes too much of a partaker of that particular abstract drug.
I took one puff. Felt ill. Excused myself and went to lie down and die.
As I was dying dramatically, I had a moment of hearing every sound in my environment as though it was part of the rhythm and soundtrack of life living itself.
Ordinary sounds which normally I zone out became vivid and loud and rhythmic. Drums beating in synchronicity with my heart which was about to explode and kill me.
It lasted for… I have no idea but I think it was shorter than it felt. I went downstairs, cooked dinner, entertained my guests… yes, there was more than one (for a hermit by nature that’s a mob). The moment of death was over and life went on.
But I never forgot that insight. Every sound is part of the soundtrack of life. Not all sounds are auditory. Some sounds are visual. Each sense perceives sound differently, but they do perceive it. You can taste sound too.
I don’t know if these photographs fit the brief of the Weekly Photo challenge… they do to me.
“We should show life neither as it is, nor as it should be, but as we see it in our dreams.” ― Anton Chekhov
The photographs are silent… but are they? Can you hear the earth beating? The seagulls bleating (or whatever they do)? And the house across the earth field… what sounds are there? It’s not quite Downton Abbey, but it looks pretty grand from a distance and it’s been around for a while, perhaps there are ghosts haunting it… what sound do ghosts make? Ghosts from our past are sometimes louder than the living in the present.
I never got a shot of the machinery which turned the earth, caused the seagulls (earthgulls) to descend in a mob and woke me up slightly because… I zoned it out.
“How easy it is, Doctor, to be a philosopher on paper, and how difficult in real life!” ― Anton Chekhov
ps. Don’t do drugs – read something instead, like Johnathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach or The Seagull by Anton Chekhov.