Saturday, September 28, 2013

Rains Wash Silence

“When the sky is breathing tears… rain will wash away all silence…”  Gulnara Karimova

The sounds of the raindrops, yes they wash away the silence of the earth, because each contains  a little story from heaven.   I wonder if raindrops have names?  Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, etc.  And what stories would they tell of the faces on which they have dropped and the hearts that they have cleaned, and the tears they have mixed with.

I was washed away once by a river which took me to a distant shore. 

“Where am I?” I asked.  But there was no one there to answer me. 

“My name is Glen Salo.” 

[NOTE:  I had always searched for an English-version of my name Gonzalo; there isn’t one. Sometimes I used “John” when I didn’t care if the person remembered my name or not—and I didn’t want to spend a lot of time trying to get the person to say my name correctly.   One day I was in my office and I received a telephone call from a salesman who was trying to sell some product.  I normally hang up quickly, but the salesman talked well and got me interested.  I told him to fax me his brochure.  He asked me for my name and I told him “Gonzalo.”  He didn’t ask for the spelling as people usually do.   A few minutes later, I received a fax addressed to “Glen Salo.”  While I didn’t buy the product, I did love the name… So  “Gonzalo” became  “Glen” for casual acquaintances and for my blog] Anyway…

The river did not answer me; its cataracts roared and foamed. I wondered why the river did not say, “You are here and my name is _____.”  Deep calls to deep amid the roaring waters.  They are speaking in foam and in their splashing on the rocks. I try to answer them but my breath is shallow and I cannot make myself heard.

I strain to see more distant shores… they call me in a language unknown; yet I hear their call.  I wonder if the Sirens called Ulysses in this way.  But he covered his ears with wax and could not hear them in any case.  I did not cover my ears with wax, yet I only heard the rushing waters… perhaps I did not speak their language.

"Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens."   Carl Jung

I tried to sing with the water but my song was lost in the river. No, I am not a boatman; more of a falcon than a salmon. I fly in the sky and soar in open spaces, upward ever upward into the blue of space…
I wonder if the fishes in the river sing?  Would the sing  “The song of the Salmons” as they swim upstream. Who knows… Perhaps Neptune if he existed… Perhaps the fishes would sing a song…  a simple song of freedom…

In his Seventh Letter, Plato complains of the weakness of language—the inability to properly describe the four things necessary to know a thing (first, name; second, the definition; third the image; fourth, the knowledge and as fifth the thing itself which is known and truly exists).  These four necessities attempt to show what a thing is like, not less than what each thing is.  I do not think that people are so complicated.  The true person always reveals themselves.  You cannot hide who or what you are. 

I climbed to the top of a mountain and yelled out loud, “I am calling you.”  The echo of my voice gave me double reassurance…It may be that I needed double reassurance of what I wanted to say. The heart sometimes needs a voice and someone to hear it. It takes courage to say what you mean even if only an echo. 

After  rains comes renewed life.

I visited the Redwood Forest in Northern California, with truly majestic trees.  But what really got my attention was something I noticed on huge Redwood tree had been cut down.  I usually don’t take many pictures because I’m not very good at it but I like this one.

The picture of the redwood bud is life renewed and more.  Vladimir Navokov, who in discussing Chekhov, observed that Chekhov in his characters shows that “The greatest of the great laws of nature is not the survival of the strongest but the survival of the weakest.”  So it is…

The rains ultimately lift our burden captured in Goethe’s apothegm:  “Was uns alle badigt—das Gemeine.’”  (That which hampers us all—the commonplace.)  

We are now ready for another day… and more songs of rain.  Nice.

By:   Homeless with a Laptop, That is my Name
Бездомные с ноутбуком, это мое имя

No comments:

Post a Comment