You fill the world with music.
I tell you, be silent, and listen.
The world is music.
Close your eyes. Lift your hand. Lay it upon me, supplicant, and hear. Steady, quiet, deeper than your heartbeat, sweeter than your blood. Wind touches us and we tell our secrets. Creatures hide in our skin, home and haven, battleground and cemetery. Lives are lived here, and those lives are not silent. Listen. Dark bark and growing moss, the steady crunch of green things. Thrum. The quick beat of a bird’s wings, launching from my sister’s shelter. Crack. A fallen piece of my brother beneath uncaring hooves. You have your violins, bow on string that teases beauty from man-made instruments, notes that transcend your glass and metal shells. We have breath. My brothers and sisters take in the air, release it to you cleansed, new-made, sounds you claim are silent but you could hear them if you were only not so loud yourselves. Listen. You have drums, hide stretched taut over empty holes, deep reverberation that echoes the beating of your own hearts. We have fire. Tears through us, flicker, crunch, lick, swallow, burn. Faster than we can think, faster than our blood moves, it boils us where we stand, reduces us. We become the next generation, our blood feeding new blood, our bones turned to mulch and silt and giving way for greater strength. Listen. You have trumpets, shouting voices announcing your presence to the uncaring, empty world. We have canopies, groves, orchards, forests. We have jungles and ravines and wilderness. We have sleeping, pregnant nights and cautious, predatory days. We do not need to prove our existence in order for it to be so. Our voices are our presence. We are. Listen.
There is sound in the silence.
Music in the quietest moments.
Listen. Touch me.
And listen.
Today’s image comes to you courtesy of Rene Blais. Check out his work on His Facebook Page, and see more about him on Lucid Dreaming’s Contributors Page.