“I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back.” –Maya dearest
a sound or series of sounds caused by the reflection of sound waves from a surface back to the listener.
a close parallel or repetition of an idea, feeling, style, or event.
(of a sound) be repeated or reverberate after the original sound has stopped
A sound, whether soft and porous as the snail’s sinuous skin or jagged rough cut and coarse as a razor’s edge. It reverberates. It resounds. Vibrating piercing pulsation, representing the origin from whilst it came. Swallowed, digested, sprung. From the bases’ bounce, the noise has begun.
like a rhythmic wave
Twists and turns, spiraling cartwheels to Jupiter moons
We feel. Breathe it in. Allow the vibration to pour and infiltrate every cellular structure of our being. Fill us with the derivative consequence of the surrounding sound. The words we read, faces we see, the current of the heart’s reach. The music which fills our rooms, our space, our fading thoughts, and muttering hums. Every day, every hour we devour. Soak in the world around us, process, regurgitate, reciprocate.
And we wonder why sometimes the thuds, booms, and bangs crowd our space, when crowded in ego’s sullen cave. Soak up and surround the mind place, piercing to the staple core. Nowhere to run. Allow the rumbling resonance to roll in cognitive orbit. Circulate. Littered drifts of splintered dissonance dust our chords. An invitation to the septic soirée. We invite. Come let your fog horn ricochet roll round, rumble and ruin. decay
idea, the sudden novel surge that bounces around the confines of the mind until it is lost in doldrums’ desertion. What does it muster up? Savage suicide of the inspired spirit. How does the strum of the tone ring upon the stream of time’s spring? Lost in rogue waves.
Even the smallest whispers, murmurs, and hints of movement are caught in the ripple
Even silence tells a story.
An echo should ring. Hitting decimal heights of concord clarity. Clear away debris of the clouded commotion which obstructs the construct. Create. The reverb of the nerve aspires to ascend beyond boundaries and take flight, with harmonious resolve. Reach
With each breath, this bell rings
With each concrete connect
No ceiling. No blockade of cave to catch us. Let’s dance to the resounding drum of the finite, while our echo rings linger, infinite in flight.
“Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart.”