You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Echo’ tag.
Memories and thoughts,
voices and echoes,
strangers and shadows;
what is going to happen next no one really knows,
what will happen all depends on where
and in which direction you want to go.
You can be just standing in the sun
when a face from the past will stop you
and say hello to you,
and say also ‘remember me’;
you can be lost in thought enjoying the sunshine
when something amazing and out of the ordinary
might happen and take you away to where you were going
and where you need to be.
It is amazing how many people you remember meeting,
and how many people remember meeting you;
it is the best thing ever when you run into someone
you didn’t think you would ever see again,
and you just start talking like no time has passed
between you seeing each other,
and it all just comes unexpectedly and out of the blue.
When I shake someone’s hand and I say goodbye to them,
I always think that that will be the last time
that I will see them in the light of the day again;
when I say goodbye it always feels like forever;
however, time and again, I am reminded that nothing is final,
and that life is sometimes as predictable as the weather.
There is nothing like seeing surprise in someone’s eyes;
there is nothing that feels like perfection than a connection;
there is nothing that is sweeter than a hopeful dreamer;
there is nothing more inspiring and invigorating
than the stories of a true dreamer, adventurer, traveler, story-teller.
When you leave your home, and you roam;
when you see things without having to look;
when you literally get a feeling in your bones;
when you know that something is meant for you,
and meant to happen to you,
and is more than just good luck;
when someone does something for you
and they do it with no expectation of anything in return,
especially if genuine compassion and generosity
doesn’t happen to you that often,
then you will see and believe that something, or someone,
once seen will never and can never be forgotten.
Since I was a kid
I have been exposed and interested
in every decade of the 20th Century,
and I have always been fascinated
by the phenomenon of things created in different decades
that were a staple and an example of their time
that come back into fashion, and the touch of the influence
and the art of them continues to inform the present
in many different and brilliant ways.
I feel like a collage of styles,
likes, lessons, morals, and trends;
I love the fact that I am not stuck or constrained
in any particular way of dressing, thinking about,
or seeing the world, and I never have-
I have always loved individuality and originality,
uniqueness and specialness,
and the things about life and people that never
detract and always enhance.
There is a reason why things repeat;
there is a reason why ideas, designs, and concepts
come back into peoples consciousness time after time;
there is a reason why a good thing never dies;
there is a reason why hearts, minds, and souls meet.
The music of the 1980s,
the ideas of the 1970s,
the style of the 1960s,
the art of the 1950s,
are loved every day and are still all around us
and they can be heard, thought, seen, and enjoyed,
in any and every one of the worlds cities,
and knowing that everything that used to be considered
every-day and ‘run of the mill’ is now truly special,
treasured, and cherished, by people who were
not even born when they were new, unheard, and unseen,
gives them a quintessential, classic, vintage feel,
and ambiance, that some things of the modern age
will not have when they too become replaced
by something that resembles a change of ways,
or a refreshed screen.
I love the look, the feel, the sound, the crackle, of vinyl;
I love seeing and being inside a “classic car”;
I love something that doesn’t ever lose it’s charm,
because it was made to be a one-off,
but has transcended, endured, and lasted,
and will enrich peoples lives forever
and make them smile.
I love as story, a person, that is, and who is,
so special and unique, but also ubiquitous-
but not because they were forced on other to be
who and what they are now considered to be from their genesis,
but because no one took them for granted,
and love them because they will always be as singular as a star.
Seeing an iconic invention and expression of a time gone by
that still exists in some way, is like being in a tunnel
and hearing the distinctive voice of someone in an echo;
seeing the source of a revolution,
and also going back and learning about something of importance’s
origin, is always the best thing in the world-
and that is why I love to rediscover things,
and make a part of my life and me many of the things
that people call and consider nostalgic and retro.
The sound of a spanish guitar being played
wonderfully and exquisitely by its player
echoes around the circular chamber
at the centre of the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery,
and everybody standing, sitting, looking, is enraptured,
surrounded by magnificent and beautiful paintings and artwork,
and all before a statue by Jacob Epstein sculpted
to represent the archangel Lucifer “the bringer of Light”
from John Miltons epic poem ‘Paradise Lost’,
and the resonance and the music that fills the crowded space
noticeably lifts everyone off their seat and off their feet,
and I can tell that I am not the only one who feels like
they are in another world, and we all are feeling this sensation
of being cleansed in some way-
just like that feeling we all have
after we have splashed our faces with water
just after we wake up in the morning
and the first thing we all do when we wash.
I feel like a deep-sea diver, at the bottom of an ocean,
in a magical underwater realm,
and I feel like I can actually see the beautiful
and wonderful sound waves being created
and travelling through the air and touching everyone squarely in the chest;
as as if in slow-motion, I see the moment in everyone’s eyes
when the power of the music hits them and they feel it
at the same time that they hear it,
and I watch them be drawn in and be enraptured
and be lifted in so many ways.
There were points during the performance
in which I clearly remember what I was thinking
and who I was thinking about-
during the faster guitar playing, for example,
‘The Spanish Dance’, I could actually feel my heart racing and beating fast,
while during the slower songs I remember having flashbacks
and recollections of fallen and lost friends
who I will never see again.
Unfortuntely, I cannot remember all of the names
of the beautiful guitar pieces-
they all had an interesting italian- or spanish-sounding name-
but they were all amazing, and I honestly felt so
privileged to be there to hear them being played
to me and a captive audience,
and I can honestly say that being lucky enough to be there
was a true right-place, right-time, moment,
and it was a magical experience in which all that there
felt like there was in the time that the music was being played,
and we who were hearing it were all that existed,
as well ad our own individual memories and shared emotions,
and everything that we all brought with us to that echo chamber
of a room, which was filled all the way up to the glass dome above
with divine sound and necessary silence.
When the players were not playing
you could hear everything- a foot-step, a pin-drop, a heart-beat,
the vibration of a still vibrating guitar string.
Sound is special. Music is unparalleled.
The voices of people and man-made instruments
of all types, shapes, and sounds, fascinate me.
Sound is something we feel deeply.
Music is like a constantly ringing bell.
The voice of an instrument would not be the same
without the unique voice, gift, and life of it’s player,
and there is nothing else like living, hearing,
and feeling, the most beautiful string poetry.
When I first began on the path
I was like the statue that I was standing next to;
when I first looked at what I could see before me,
I couldn’t see anything or anyone-
but at the same time I felt this draw,
I felt the edge of this wave coming towards me,
as if the path were a river,
or like the wind outside an open door;
I felt something in the cold air that took my breath away from me-
like the chill that you feel from a draft.
I knew that I either had to close the door or walk through it,
or perhaps turn back and walk away;
and then, right then, I heard you, I saw you,
I knew I had to be where you were,
but I knew you were not at the end of the path- you couldn’t be-
because that would be impossible;
but I have never believed anything is truly impossible,
and I have never, and will never, give up hope on anything or anybody ever;
and that was when all my answers came to me.
The sun was above me and behind me,
and its light guided my way and made the path shimmer and glow.
The trees that lined the path on either side
moved and jostled in unison for a second,
and as they did, for an instant, I could have sworn
that I was somewhere else, in another place, at another time-
like I was reliving a memory,
but which I didn’t recognise as being mine,
it felt like someone else’s thought,
it felt like yours-
and that was when I knew I had to walk the path.
I could see the end that awaited me,
and I knew where I had to go.
It had been raining earlier,
and there was still a slight and fine mist in the air.
As the rays of golden light from the sun
bounced off the wet ground rainbows appeared
and veiled the path in every colour of the spectrum;
and that was when I felt caught and pulled,
as if by a current, or as if the very ground beneath me
was moving by itself and taking me along with it.
Walking the path as it appeared now made me think,
feel, and experience the sensation of walking
through a hall of mirrors at a fun fare.
I heard nothing but the sound of a slight breeze through the trees,
but there was also this faint echo
that seemed to be getting loauder and stronger
the farther I walked and the closer I got to there end of the path-
the echo was a voice, your voice;
the drumming I felt was my own heart beating.
As I passed the empty black painted benches with the brown wooden seats,
I thought for a second I could see someone sitting there
looking at me, or reading, or listening to their own music-
like impressions, echoes, or shadows in the sunlight,
left and preserved forever-
like a moment of emotion and contenment captured in time,
that may fade but wont ever be forgotten
and will draw back those who made those impressions
to this spot, time and again.
As I neared the end of the path,
I felt lost and consumed by the flow of energy all around me-
and like when you swim out to sea,
I felt compelled to turn back and look at the path behind me,
and in that moment that was when I literally felt your vibration,
because that was when I saw, realized, and then read
a message from you that you had just sent me-
and in that message was a picture of your smiling face
that you wanted to share with me,
and also a text from you telling me that you love me.
I instantly replied to you with a photo of me smiling
on the path in the park and a message from me
that ‘I love you too’, and as soon as I sent you that message
there was a blinding flash of light,
and as I turned around to look at the rest of the path in front of me
I saw that the path didn’t end as near or as soon as I originally thought,
and I suddenly had this epiphany that these next few steps
in the beautiful sunlight were not my, or our, last;
and I saw that there wasn’t an end or a definitive finish line
to where I was, where I am going, so that is why I kept going,
looking, feeling, and smiling, as I continued to walk the path.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 