I’m in here.
Inside the sound.
Where there’s nothing. No thought. No body. Nothing but a thrumming reverberation.
Inside this cocoon of noise there is nothing but the cotton wool fluff of vibration and rhythm. And everything else is beaten out by the loudness of it all. I am still and I am quiet.
And from this cocoon I can watch you. I can see you all. When I open my eyes to look beyond the swaddle of sound, you are all so visible. I cannot hear your voices and without that babble you become more yourselves than you ever have before. All I see is your movement, your physical performance. That part of yourself which is so fundamental and yet which is covered up by your practiced, measured, words.
And you are here in all your great variety. I notice that there are so many different styles of jeans. For some absurd reason, this makes me happy. And the noises which you are moving too and listening to and with like me…these noises are the product of thousands upon thousands of years of global human musicality, and yet they are still as incomprehensibly noisy and messy and unexpected and improbable and glorious as they ever were. Here are popular songs, folk tales, dance, myth, ballads, jazz and blues.
I never want to be so old that I stop delighting in the strangeness of sound, and the strangeness of it all.