Silence

Sitting here at a friends place on the beach, listening to "Some guys have all the luck" by Robert Palmer, I'm also "working" (taking a break), and staring out the window at the waves. They just keep coming in.

The sunlight on them, each one; so unique, so the same. It's a coolish day, with a nice breeze.

the cars hiss by my window, like the waves down on the beach

Each wave is like a child, or an old man. Being born, and dying, in an instant. And there are millions of them, forever.
As I think that, about to write it, a family walks through my view pane, a little girl hops up on a log and walks along it, like I tend to, an older lady - probably her grandmother, steps up on it to 'follow the leader', and then steps back down and walks along the beach.

I'm reflecting on the value of being alone.

Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come with talk with you again
...
And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains
Within the sound of silence

I guess I've been listening to "four Minutes, thirty-three-seconds", by John Cage(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7zBG2p8g94&feature=related), but the extended version. You know, those moments where your mind just gives up on listening to anything in particular, and you can hear everything at once..  I call that peace.

Is this how we wake to our lives?

Listening to the movement of the grass in the wind that I can only see through the window, listening to the logs lying on the beach, the constant rhythym of the waves, the cadence of the wind in the trees, the fan in my laptop, like its breath, the depression of keys as I write, my thoughts, sometimes moments before being written, sometimes never written, the sound of the inside curl of a wave.. and its momentous mystery..              silence.

You say my name, I dissappear, who am I? How long will I swim in this silence? Till I am myself again.

In random movie selections, watched alone and with friends, I think four in a row recently were about writers. Wrestling with following their dreams, getting over blocks. "One Week", already mentioned, a cool little Canadian flick - the main character, in his search for Grumps - quoted Ulysses, by Tennyson, a lot. I have too, in this blog, over the last year.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone...


And the sign said the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls, and whispered in the sounds of silence