If I were the size of a fly, I would always be bombarded with that sonic buzz, that electric hum, that vexing noise. There would be no escaping the intractable flap of erratic wings. I would be forced to run and hide under pillows or bars of soap. I would have to build a dome, an imperceptible shield that would protect me from the perdition the fly brings with him (or her). I would look for a machine that would make me big once again. And then the fly swatter would come off the hook and rage like it has never raged before. Splat! Victory. Brief reprieve. Enter stage right...new fly.
The fly is vexing by itself, but imagine a world where the auditory extrusions of flies happened to be more palpable and, dare I say, amplified. People would constantly be wincing or cringing. A walk in the park would be like being caught in a war zone. People would probably commit suicide en masse. "Survival of the fittest" would turn into "survival of the hearing impaired," for they would be the only ones capable of living in the flies' sonic blitzkrieg.
In a very real way, we live in a world of "technological flies". All of our machines make noise. The blender. The lawnmower. The MRI machine. Microwaves. Mp3 players. Guitars. Drums. Guns. Fans. All of these co-conspire to create a world of bifurcating and evolving din. This would of course be okay if we were somehow protected from all this clamor. But we are not. The frequencies of the world batter and bruise us. They mingle with the oscillations we carry within. They disrupt. They distort. And there is nothing we can do. The machine is relentless. Only a long, near-eternal dip in the cold waters of the zero-point field could potentially save us in this Age of Noise.
In Cyndi Dale's book, "The Subtle Body: An Encyclopedia of Your Energetic Anatomy," there is a six-page section that deals with geopathic stressors. Essentially, geopathic stressors are either man-made or natural frequencies that are inimical to our body. Gamma rays. X-rays. Ultraviolet light. The list goes on. All of these stressors slowly but surely undermine the well-being of our bodies and minds. In this Age of Noise, I do believe "sonic stressors" are doing the same thing to us. They are mutating our nervous systems, damaging our beings, and depriving us of the sanctity of silence.
Onto other things...
Autumn is a season of exquisite colors and cool nights. It is also a season where the geese create cacophonous sounds in the pre-dawn sky. The welter of sounds are disjointed and slightly draconian. It's almost like they are flying away from a predatory threat of some sort. A part of me actually looks forward to the din every morning. Geese skronk is better than no skronk. (I am well aware of the fact that "geese skronk" violates the sanctity of silence.)
I purchased Paulo Coelho's book "Aleph" recently. Jorge Luis Borges is quoted in it:
"The Aleph was about two to three centimeters in diameter, but all of cosmic space was there with no diminution in size. Each thing was infinite, because I could clearly see it from every point on the universe."
The Aleph. The beginning. The origin. In my novel, "Mundus Imaginalis," it is the guiding star that spits out a visionary world for the protagonist, Johnny Phoenix. When I read that Paulo Coelho wrote the book "Aleph," I just knew I had to track it down. It seems like both novels deal with Man's eternal search for meaning, love, and spiritual grace.
A time for reflection: I passed by a jade pool of water earlier in the day. The geese are gathering for their impending migrations. Stillness reigns supreme.
ALEPH:
Enfolded inside the seed of every
passing moment, the unspeakable reason for being.
Tucked away in the drawer of the beginning is
the ending (and inside that ending the spark
that is the beginning).
Every scintilla sings the same song,
and the near-silent song blesses the waking eyes
of now and then.
Every step an echo of another.
Every breath wedded to the ocean of recycled breaths.
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