11-2-13
The world is as a great and silent room, and we who come into her, whistlers. The silence of such a massive space overwhelms us, stifling our certainty so that as we learn to whistle, to purse our lips against the air, the notes which escape are hard, rough, and born with great spaces between. Still learning, we have not yet found our song and so feel in all directions, blind searching for a path, until we are struck and gradually find that melody we feel in tune with, the song which is beyond our minds, but felt even in its alien absence. Beyond the tangible, we latch and hold, we adhere to the most rudimentary notes.