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Sunday, August 28, 2005

with music none

when i read this from aamir's i-log...

We are no longer children and the accretions of our adult lives require us to articulate certain truths with an honesty whose ferocity frightens us. So, shirking that responsibility, we cling to a culture of self-deception, of hurt masquerading as humor, inebriation as wit, vanity as intellect. We think because our minds can climb the meanings of big words we are wise and mature, not knowing that it’s the little words that really defeat us. Everyone is familiar with the erudite incantations of postmodernism but what does it mean to be you? I can talk comfortably about existentialism but do I know how many selves the single letter I contains? Can I name them?

i was reminded of an old poem with music none

which went something like this:

let's sing a song
with music none
let's sing a song
with no sounds
just ethereal silence
soaring spreading
soothing magic...

(will try to find the poem and if i succeed will post it here)

aamir in the composition of life silence is a necessary punctuation mark...blessed are those who can hit the pause button...and savor certain experiences…like some malangs do;)...(even tho' some near ones find it aggravating...others hopeless, lost and puzzling;)) look at the pigeons feeding in the park...a child take those first stumbling steps...the sun setting or rising over the horizon....lovers strolling on the beach in the distant...their charming obliviousness…the grateful smile that flickers when someone is given an unexpected reprieve...the determined thrust of commuters at a (road or) subway intersection...biking or walking the trail immersed in thoughts...remembering a passage, music or song and dropping everything to retrieve and enjoy it yet again...and above all the puzzled look of the straight achievers who cannot understand this bizarre detours from the conventional path...

…and from this perch…..unblessed are those whose life is conventional, straight and mechanical…


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