silence

by walterdoege

on these days I was involved in the perception of silence…silence is an old theme and an old experience renewed time to time for me…the perception of silence is a hard work, a difficult one…most of the time when I try to listen the silence, I listen noise, I listen many kinds of sounds, indifferentiated sounds…clear sounds…the sound of the wind…the sound of the people…the sound of the day…the sound of the night…the sound of the tempest, so beautiful…the sound of my voice…the sound of some instant…the sound of some moments…the sound of the birds, that sounds like a song…perhaps the birds sing…some birds that come near the window of my house sing lovely songs…if I hear the sound of the birds with one intention, I hear sounds, well arranged sounds…when I listen the sounds of the birds…and some birds wake up early in the morning and early after midnight, I can listen warm songs, sweet melodies, delightful harmonies, even unimagined rhythms…the same occurs when hearing the winds…some winds cry…some winds are joyful songs…some winds do clear blues arrangements, and this epiphanic instants sounds the song of the nature…the sound of some winds, depending utmost of myself intention, I listen as great compositions…these compositions require nature and my intention…I can randomly play my acoustic piano keyboard with no intention, and even though, some music arises…it is different when I sit on the chair for playing the piano with an intention, a mix of interpretation, composition and improvisation…always performatic…sometimes the sound of my piano playing intention is close to my intention…most of the time what I listen is far away my intention, especially when I play solo piano with the only intention of listen the sound of each chord…near an improvisation, but still not an improvisation…my intention on sitting in front of my piano is play some chords, not exactly what is named a music…randomly touching the keyboard with my fingers…I listen a sound, this sound sometimes seems a music…the common playing is when I have the intention of do a music…sometimes the music is on my mind…rarely I can express it with my intention to play it…some memorable songs I did when I sit at piano front with no intention…no conscious intention at all, and by chance and by choice, when a performance take place, a music birth I perceive…I do not record these sounds…when I try to play the music or pieces of a music born this way…only slices and little pieces of the music I can recover…this is one reason why interpretation is the main path although improvisation is the root of my instants playing sounds and songs…and doing that I could get in touch with my old fellow, the silence…silence is difficult and impossible to listen…if I try to listen the silence, I can not…silence seems a part of time when I listen noise, music, people talking, the sound of the winds, the great songs of the birds….when I listen some music I like very much I can stay close to silence…yesterday I was listening some strong blues and some sweet blues and for a while I guess I could be closer to silence…I never listened the silence….silence is close to love…audiolove, phonolove and so on, but silence itself, no matter what is silence…I don’t know what is silence…I guess silence is not only a word…love is not only a word…perhaps I will never can listen the silence…nor hear the silence…sounds and songs appear in silence, but are not the silence…nor silence itself do sound and songs…the song of the birds…the song of the wind…the song of a voice, is not silence…at the infinite horizon I can only imagine silence…trying to stay in silence I hear every kind of sound…imagination, feelings, memories…are full of song…I never listened the silence…in silence I can notice some silent silence, but this perception is not the silence itself, always remains songs of love…almost silent love, almost…the voice of loved people are loud and ringing voices, when I can listen in a talking the voices it is so lovely!…when I can remember some tender dialogues it is plenty of sound and song of loveliness…silence I never listened or heared on my life…love I can only feel through people share…and my writing is not a struggle against silence, but perhaps a trial to listen your lovely words according your kind reading of what I write does occurs, some flash instants when my voice and your voice seems one voice…a kind of chorus song…far away, untouchable, the silence…but it seems that upon silence dialogue occurs…music occurs…life occurs…freeedom occurs, as this trial of letting the silence…even in meditation or contemplation, I only can imagine silence…my writing seems a struggle and a sweet and hard step by step work against non sense and empty words…emptiness is only a possibility of be supplied with love…I can only feel love…share love…love itself resembles silence…but silence is not love and love is not silence…the whispered words of loving love!…the memory of  voicing loveliness…silence stay silent …silence is some kind of old and always new experience the words can not get, but does permit the sound of any word, any human trial to keep on living…silence is not nothing…silence is mistery, as love…and lovely words, even in memory, I can listen and hear…the voice of the children on the shopping are with me, and the feeling of joy the children were expressing is inside my deep heart…even like remembrances, utmost as experience of joy and hope…esperanza…the voice of loving people so vivid….silence remains silence,