Tag Archives: noise

The Cosmic Song and Dance

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Tying in with the main article on Circles within Circles here is a piece of prose and a poem on the subject of the great cosmic dance both written by yours truly:

moons & stars

Music, music all around

Can you hear it: The Music? It’s all around you if you only have ears to hear. Go on open them; take a deep breath, close your eyes and just listen for once, really, really concentrate on the sounds of life, the universe, everything around you: the music of the spheres, the rhapsody of creation.

I’ve always been able to hear it – the ohm, the notes that flow through the spaces in between the stars. A noise quite unlike any other, made up of the sum of all other sounds: the crackle of space energy, remnants from the biggest sound of all – the Big Bang, the first of all sounds … Star Music. If I tune in I can hear the song of the ocean even without a seashell held to my ear. When I still my consciousness I feel the vibrations of rocks and stones, and hear the quiet susurrations made by grass growing, petals and leaves unfurling. In my heart I feel the deep moans of  huge trees straining under the weight of decades, centuries even, of earthly knowledge, and the sounds of great whales serenading the planet and calling to their cousins, the Angels, above and beyond. Can you? The whole universe is singing for your benefit, for our benefit; a daily opera more real than any TV Soap or Covent Garden performance.

Science Fiction writers talk about the silence of space. No! No! Nooo!  Space isn’t silent, Life isn’t silent – it’s shouting, screaming out to be heard; a glorious choral cacophony of rejoicing and thankfulness, purely because it exists – and you can listen in any time you want; no subscriptions, satellites or aerials needed.  All you need to do is take time, be still, listen, reach out with your consciousness, and you’ll hear it whispering … singing … shouting … at you.

So now you know! As you go about your daily life keep your ears wide open. Listen out for those amazing acappellas of ordinariness: the percussion beats of rain as you take shelter in the park, the cracking of ice thawing on the surface of winter puddles and the metronomic drip drip drip of icicles melting, the pizzicato nonsense of garden birds heralding the silvery dawning light of morning, the symphonic scratchings and rustlings of tiny bugs and worms working the earth, the giant guitar strums of wild winter wind in wires, and the full orchestral power of storms and oceans punctuated by the slow sad booming heartbeat of our precious put-upon earth. Listen to the:

flapping, tapping, trickling, tooting, hooting, hissing, clicking, clattering, clashing, crackling, hushing, rushing, whistling, wailing, whining

wonder of this noisy world of ours. Revel in the healingful purrings of our furry feline friends, rejoice as they join their brother wolves and howl at the moon, and join in if you dare. Then laugh along with the cheerfulness of canine  barks and equine whinnies,  and the friendly chortlings and snuffles of guinea pigs and rabbits, the croak of frogs. Cry with the sheer splendour of recorded compositions on vinyl, CD or I player or sung in Sunday Gospel choirs and Monday morning school assemblies and Friday night drink washed bars. Every minute the digital memories of words, thousands upon thousands of conversations (happy, sad, indifferent, or just plain cruel) pass through the telephone wires. Can you hear them calling to you? Do you heed the crackling of electricity in the pylons, or the humming of data in the ether, busy travelling the worldwide web, and urging you to wake up and join in the great concerto of life?

Above all, can you feel, deep in your soul, the harmonic human variations on a life theme:

babies crying, lovers murmuring, people chuntering, chuckling, chanting, chattering, moaning, groaning, panting, praying, whispering,

weeping, shouting, shushing, snorting …. and yes, singing … singing everywhere.

There’s a billion, billion galaxies out there, each full of life; moons and planets all spinning like tops; moons orbitting planets; planets orbitting suns; suns revolving around galaxies; swirling galaxies circling endlessly around each other. All that energy generated: pouring though the Cosmic Radio; everything, everyone, singing together in universal connectedness and concord. Beyond that, in perpetual and holy synchrony with the physical universe, the sound of Angels: the beat of mighty wings, the ecstasy of heavenly voices; Celestial conductors keeping our Universal Choir singing in unison. No-one is alone, nothing lonely – because we’re all making Star Music together. So listen won’t you! You’ve been told. Music is all around you … just listen … and then Sing.

  night sky northern hemisphere

The Cosmic Dance

Starlight tells a strange, strange story

Of time’s fiery beginning

When all was gas and elements

Around nothing, slowely spinning

 

So far it travels, the tale it tells

Is of a universe without form

A swirling tide for eons long

A roiling, boiling thing of storms

 

Still speeding on through space, it speaks

Of a thousand suns so bright

That whirl, and waltz, their fire throughout

A million long galactic nights

 

Then not so long in cosmic terms

The suns spawn rings of worlds

That in their circling, spinning turn

Into that dance are hurled

 

Upon a world, a molten place

Comes lightening, then, and cooling rain

Electrons form, like spinning beads

To start their own entwining chains

 

An intricate dance of twirling pairs

That spiral round and multiply

A pattern for the greatest dance

Of all, allowing life to leap and fly

 

First light, that through the void has spun,

To us, brings tales of awe and chance

Voyaging on, through space it comes

To take our hands, and lead us in the cosmic dance

night sky southern hemisphere

 

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Yet another canvas

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A comfortable home is a great source of happiness. It ranks immediately after health and a good conscience.

Sydney Smith

I always thought a home was a building – a roughly cubic box of brick, glass and roof tiles, made individual by artful décor, expressive colour and beautiful things. I still do, to a certain extent, but I now realise that ‘home’ means much more.

I suppose I never really felt at home as a child and teenager. My parents never let me put my stamp on my room. They worked, so my sister and I trailed all over town (and around Yorkshire in summer) to relatives at weekends and holidays. My roots found it hard to get established. Later, as a wife and mother my house was our family home; and so never really felt mine, as such, involving so much compromise.

I suppose, for some reason, I always felt like a lodger wherever I was. So when I divorced, buying my own house was a big deal. It had to be just right. As a style I edge towards the romanticism and exoticism of the Pre-Raphaelites, Art Nouveau and Victorian/Edwardian Bohemia, with a soupcon of Art Deco. I love the strong elegant lines of the Victorian/Edwardian terraced town house: the space; the height; the huge, lengthy windows, low and deep enough to sit in; the corridors, perfect arenas to display family photos and arty pictures; and steep, twisting staircases with carved, spindled banisters. And that is what I bought – in a very Bohemian and multi-cultural (well the only Bohemian and multi-cultural) part of the City of Hull. I treasured it, adored it, cared for it lovingly (that’s official – the estate agent said so in the brochure when I finally put it up for sale – but that’s to come, later).

When I moved in I found it blemished with 70’s beige, hardboard covered doors and staircase, and more such DIY abominations. So I painted it in strong, rich heritage colours between replaced dado and picture rails, put in ceiling roses and cornicing, and turned it into a designer shrine to my freedom to be me.

I filled the place with rainbow colours, glorious music, fragrant flowers and the fluidly warm enigma that was my half-alien, ghost-watching, black cat Midnight (still there sleeping peacefully, buried in the walled garden after her death at Samhein  2003– when else?)

I planted the walled garden with gorgeous flowering perennials, herbs and fat patio pots, transforming the unhelpfully north facing concrete space into a verdant and magical place where I am certain, to this day, that fairies live. I meditated in the garden, sun-soaked there, read endless novels there, and had many barbecues.  People enjoyed visiting my house and garden, saying it had a friendly, positive feel and asking advice on how to get a similar feel in their homes.

Then disaster struck – really, it was that bad. A pair of noisy young women moved into the upstairs flat next door. After 6 years of heaven, auditory hell descended on to my ambiance-full haven. Music and shouting thudded and blared out, 24/7, day and night, for over a year. The council couldn’t help, the landlady wouldn’t (it was her relative making the racket). I deteriorated into a screaming, sleep deprived harridan but I wasn’t going to be driven from my beautiful home. I succumbed to sick leave from work due to the stress, panic and anxiety attacks, took anti-depressants, whilst my friends and family stood around, watching, helplessly, as I fragmented and disintegrated. Then one otherwise perfectly ordinary day I saw the light – quietly, simply, with not even a blast of trumpet to announce this timely enlightenment: a home is not a house, it’s an idea! The concept of ‘home’ comes from within! Therefore I could start again somewhere else. Duh! When I finally detached emotionally from the building I was able to sell it, and buy somewhere quieter. Yes I would (and do) miss my elegant, spacious, Edwardian ‘Avenues’ house; but life would (and did) go on.

What I bought to replace it was a 1930s semi-detached suburban house, a cottage really. Tiny yes, but it was beautifully renovated inside, if blandly decorated (I could change that). There was a stylish modern galley kitchen (with range, I trembled with delight on seeing it), delightful leaded windows and – bliss – through a Tuscan Villa-like archway,  an Italian floor-tiled conservatory leading out onto a paved patio, and small enclosed potential-full garden, with grass for the grandchildren to play on, and off road parking for me. The whole length of the building was only as big as my previous lounge. It was just a town cottage, really.

The neighbourhood is not so friendly or cosmopolitan, in fact it’s desperately conservative and insular, but I have my corner of heaven back, because what I learnt was that I made my house home. It would be my attitude to my space that would make this new house the friendly, welcoming building that my previous one was.

It is now, seven years on, a tribute to purple and lavender, with classic furniture blending with clean modern paintwork, and lots of plants. There are less pictures, mirrors and other artifacts (not enough room, the scale is all wrong) but the same spirit of beauty, serenity and space is there just like before; the garden is evolving into a mini Italian garden with paving, steps, pond, pergola and even a small maze (the grass was hell to manage)  and lots of scented roses, fruit trees and bushes, and herbs – a wildlife haven; my home is … just another canvas!