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Silence ( November 2002 )
What silence can afford but confide to tranquility it’s tale of quiet sounds of wind, floating water, rush of coming surf, rustling leaves in whistling branches of distant fall, fizzling of steams and gazes, which are being burned by fire,
That they can crawl to surface, whenever the moment is tolerating them, where tranquility is expected and nothingness is meant to be.
Several times a day the wistful searcher is entering rooms of silence, dusky basements, chilly storerooms, empty buildings, abandoned houses, uninhabited halls and experiences the moment that he pauses and persists in quiet silence, listening to the few of noise, the few of movement that spreads and sounds in the hollow vault of falling tones sound.
If a door closes then, a chair shifts - a rumble occurs, a jiggle, a snap, that doesn’t need to be visualized, that declares itself by its sound totally and exposes before the ear of the listener, who lingers again and abandons himself to the tone which his senses absorb.
But what’s about the voice of thoughts, one’s own but often embarrassing inner conglomeration of words, sentences and melodies, which buzz in the rhythm of one’s own heartbeat, in the pulsation of one’s own blood and in corridors of one’s own perception of the inner self, which is filled with information from the surrounding environment, with values, conditions and norms and fading memories of visions, believes, changing principles and maxims of a delinquent and revolving Self, that squeezes an individual to mistrust the terrifying ego bonded to the fear of depersonalization and disintegration. What kind of conditioning bares silence here which is louder than explosion of supernova ? ‒ is it cerebration, the inner monolog, the everlasting tattle, the inner ear, which is closing in lumbering words through layers of mind, passing by inner biotopes, mountains, landscapes, foaming seas, oceans of appropriate being. And what’s about the silence of emotions, which are dancing the fast Tango of the enamored sadness and the out coming anger, the Waltz of pride or the relaxed Reggae, perhaps even the sentimental enthusiasm of blues or the sleaziness of soul in a round dance of feelings ? They buzz through the house of the inner being, move between the extreme values of hate and love which are supplementing each other and are vehicle to all those who want to act as a god or a devil in the neighborhood or in the wilderness of the unknown. They broach what one calls the own organic matter and essential nature of the own person, which defines individuals, like day from night, which seems to be so far apart, because the light is fading, but instead is more close than a cats jump, because it’s supplementing and vibrates alternatively from or into one another, like a mellow sword into a shield or a rocket in a ball. Like this whole chains of feelings supplement each other to precise emotions, which navigate behavior and actions in turn, which expression often has an intellectual, political, perhaps economical success. Anyway everything stays part of the unbearable silence, which one becomes aware of when one is outside the atmosphere experiencing the silence of eternity or has sensitize oneself so much that one can experience the thoughts of others as speech…