THE CONSONANT OF SOUND

 

Words on the tip of her tongue, string breaks in Arvo Part’s Fur Alina, blank.

It was almost 3 am. She just couldn't think in words, sentences or even utterances. There were only images, scents and impressions of a so long abandoned memory. It was a strange and liberating sentiment. She wanted a break from words... things... and concepts...Oh those big fat concepts! They are everyday on TV, in the news, at university, at work, even in Plato's ancient book. Oh Concepts, - the word-shaped illusion of morality - have you ever imagined life without them?

Concept-less... Life included.
 
Only drops. Eyes closed. No center

Do you speak the language of drops? Resonant silver liquid drops. It's the only language that could be practiced by listening, and cannot be perceived by the sarcastic. After all, things are different when you're the beholder. You allow yourself to be consumed by something greater than yourself; your worries and perspective. You connect with the kaleidoscopic side of things; like in love or literature, and any kind of art. It's a beautiful human affinity.

Resonant silver liquid drops…She loved the way they made her feel; surreal and lingering, as in the first days of spring, when rays strike her pale skin. Trees wake up in blooms and buds, turning grays into pastel. She slowly rubs her eyes, maybe waking up to Vivaldi (Concerto for Strings and B.C. in D minor), or Beethoven's Spring Sonata.

Eyes still closed. Only drops. No center.

She looked at the clock. It was a little past 3 am. She hated this state between sleep and waking, when time slows down, almost stops. Life seems to work in slow motion and events move so fast. As if there are certain things that need to be lived, until life starts going back to normal again.

The stopping of time...Very cliché, right? But things are no longer cliché, only when they are real. They become the exact opposite; rare and personal. Have you ever been next to a person in coma and wondered what would be on their mind while they sleep. Or have ever wondered what would be in the mind of a few month-old baby. How things are represented in their pretty little head; the simple things he knows best, things that are completely foreign to us. She has always wondered what would be like to spend some minutes, hours in somebody else’s life. It is something that strikes her fancy.  

Soft and sonorous drops, they were silent, comforting. They absorbed all the words frivolously, the noise too. Alina could see the dull offices and pallid rooms, in a new light. A different brightness, coupled with a pale hue of blue. The track went lower and lower as she sank into oblivious sleep.