Before the Beginning
Pause here. For the gradient
Of silence is changing.
Pause, to hear behind all sounds
The slope of silence deepening.
In the green wall of the forest
In the red wall of the city
Behind the wall of no-sound
Is the no-door of The Aleph.
Here, hands pause in reverence.
Here the fingers bow their heads
Into a gentle fist to nod three times upon
The threshold of The Aleph.
There is no door there is no frame.
There is no wall there is no space.
Here is NOTHING which creates
Every distinction to be made.
Lugs of the Spirit! Hear the light falling.
Lugs of the Spirit! Hear darkness falling.
Un-knowing. Knowing nothing.
The holy, silent sweep of no wing.
Black ash falling from a white winter sky
White ash rising to a black summer sky
But there is one season here, forever
Awaiting the songs of un-created birds.
Nothing is separating and connecting
The upper and the lower waters.
Separating and connecting
The Silence of Light and the Silence of Darkness.
Even the simple images
Are too noisy. Even the
Silent wisdom of the Ravens
And the innocence of the Doves
The green walls of Eden
The red walls of Hell
The walls and gates of heaven
Are exiles of the Aleph.
Truly, truly, without doubt
That above is like unto below.
And that below is like unto
That which is above.
(Mark D. Price 2020)
Pause here. and here. and here. Who told you to stop? Who tells you to pause? The voice of the Unknown didn't make any sign of wanting to LET GO. Letting go would be the only reliable solution. Letting someone go. Letting go of that which had been added and connected. And letting go it would be. Letting go it would be-come. Letting go of tears and fears. Letting go of...
Who could possibly doubt any of this. It was only one truth to be told. One truth. and both of them knew it. It was eternal. And it could never be separated from the death of her brother. He was her self as much as she was him in blues.
"When my brother died". How could anything else be told after those words had been spoken. How could anyone possibly say anything more. He died and that was the end of the world. And she knew it. Didn't have to ask or tell anything more. It couldn't be more clear than that.
Words continued to spread across the white in-betweens and her brother would know from his heaven that she struggled. She was in despair. She couldn't face a day more without him. He kept battling with her head. Kept telling her that he was watching over her. Looking after her. He was not really dead.
What had started as a simple dialogue had turned into an intense wrestling. Nothing could be un-done, and it was not even desired. 'It is magic, isn't it...?, were words told confirming the incredible and yet simple act passing in between worlds. Sound came and went. Left and re-turned. Came and was remade. Fabulous stories spilled out and into their minds. Nothing could stop the speed in between. Only silence could tease the moment to expand. What was said became fluid. HELD. Incorporated into their Bodies. Sounding. Confusing. And somehow always more amazing the further it went along.
"Tell me about that which occurs in between two notes", she asked him carefully - as if something could be broken by her utternance. Her wondering spirit wanted answers. Her eagerness was too intense. But it could not be tamed. Risking. She risked all in her way of forcing. But she was out of controle. Gone into a state of unconscious trauma. Gone into a spacetime never previously visited. Her senses had brought her out of "normality" as most people would call it. Without her having to ask him to stay he had already placed his arm on her back while whispering in a soft "I will stay, don't be afraid". She had travelled into a landscape where nothing was known and all still part of her being. Her voice sounded through layers on layers. Twisted into every heart caught into the weave. Snow fell on her hands. Trembling. She stepped onto the stair and closed her ears, while still sounding straight out into deep greyblue water. She picked up a text from the table and read: "language begins with the evolution of organs for vocalization among insects not socialized into colonies, whose vocalizations consists entirely of a seductive chant. Their organs for vocalization: scaly feet, rubbed thoraxes, and vibrating wings, radiate out a periodic, endlessly repetitive, vibratory chant whose repetitive codings are not representing, producing representations and ideality, but reiterating and reaffirming the forces of beauty, health and superabundant vitality. Their vocalization is a gratuitous discharge of excess energies and the solar chant of expenditure without return" (Lingis 1994:51). Words appeared as faces, like the voices she sensed in her head, in her body, in her being. Words and vocalizations as things in a continuous evolution. Sounding and penetrating her whole system. She didn't judge them as beautiful or ugly. Their primal appearance were non-separable from her being. They had always been part of her system. Even as non-spoken. They could leave her the next minute and would then still be part of her as un/heard pronounciations. Connections seemed neither new nor old. They were so close to her. She could not ignore any one of these as more different and apart than
and come again
sweet Love letting go
I tell you, is the only reliable
solution at the moment, TRUST ME. "How can I possibly trust you? You must mistake me for someone else. I am E. "When my brother died" (Carson 2009:XX) Her words lost their sound. Nothing came out of her throat. Not a single vibration. Even if the mouth moved as if telling the most sacred meaning there could possibly be. Be- coming. She shivered. She was cold. And she knew the reason. His death had left her alone. Even if she knew she had been alone much too long.
"She really just wanted to sleep" (Neimanis, 2020) The story told crashed into her own story. Here they "could be suspended" (Ibid) Maybe maybe they could be resting... Sleeping. Had never been on her map. That was the reason for their encounter. Nightly wanderings. Their connection happened in darkness. Wasting time. Darkness felt full of meaning. She restored in the state of awakeness. She survived thanks to the dreamy landscape of floating. Queer energies. Giving oneself over to the forces of value terms. " It seems that value-systems are dyadic systems; for every value-term there is its opposite: good-bad, just-unjust, virtuous-vicuous, beautiful-ugly, and useful-useless. These terms seem to be constructed as specifications of the most kind of oppositions, that of positive and negative". (Lingis 1994:47). Her ears were aching. Her body tired. Tired of word-makings. She loved the darkness for its vastness. Her lungs - landscapes of air and memories placed at the core of life, making the world breath light into the dark - held the wave of loneliness. fragment. Her lungs as forceful fragments. Poetic fragments. She imagined a virtual space. In this space small pockets inhabited by more fragmented poetic lungs. Overvocalizing...
acted strange. The virus had without any doubt caused some weird disturbances that she couldn't define. She knew inside that it would take time to find the road meant to be walked.
Colours turning, returning, overturning, swelling into shapes she never even thought existed but only dreamed of in the state of unconsonsciousness...