Silence, Breasts, and Forgotten Lenses
Well now. It's a whole new season. I don't know if you can sense your own changes, but I feel like a new creature all over again. I don't know what I'm even doing here though. I should be in some quiet, secluded room; I should be writing for Seven Colors if not for Meadowvale — but I'm not gonna get into that now.
Have you gone to a library recently? It is striking to see how the only silent room is one corner shoved in the back. I lament the loss of silence. I think we're malnourished when it comes to silence.
People often talk about "awkward silences." I don't think the silences are awkward; I think the people have awkward insides, and the silence lets them hear their own thoughts. Now, that's scary.
I have less noise in my life but still a lot of sound. The last time I remember being purposefully silent was too long ago, perhaps months ago. I've been noising up my sleep less, so my dreams have been more vivid. The last dream I recall (and vaguely of course) was where I was going through a day. Something was on my heart, something heavy, something I don't remember. I encountered people who said hi, and I said hi back. Everyone was pleasant enough. At the end of the dream, I met some lady. I knew, and she knew, and we wept. I embraced her and told her that I understood. She wept, and I wept. That was it.
The next closest dream is just some vague recollection of doing something pleasant and simple like building something. I don't know.
All that to say that my dreams seemed stifled. Sadness.
Michael! He is full of dreams. I've been making videos for the man, but they seem so lackluster. I mean, it's a learning process, and I'm getting better at editing and whatnot, but they still seem lacking. Maybe that's just the story: he starts off with a confusing life. It gets trippier as you go.
Speaking of trippy, I started playing a game called NieR: Automata. You're an android sent by humans from the moon to Earth to eradicate the invading alien robots who have made Earth uninhabitable. Not only do you play a scantily-clad lady with digital weapons, but you also encounter robots with various levels of angst. One psycho opera boss monster robot thing shrieks, "I need to be beautiful!" as she throws crucified androids at you from a theater stage.
Woah.
While fighting the creature, I was just thinking, "hold R1, press R2, run, run, run, jump, hold R1, press R2."
Writing that now, it seems a way lot trippier than before.
I dig it though. I've long preferred fantasy and sci-fi. I've long preferred the stories that stretch us outside of reality and into possibility — and sometimes into deeper truths.
I have a theory about poetry — and fictional stuff in general: poetry is really just the pursuit of truth. It's just trying to express the thing as truly as possible. I think about Solomon's song: technically, her breasts were reservoirs of glands and lipids, but Solomon described them like "fawns, twins of a gazelle."
It is true that they were equipped to provide milk, and it is true that the total caloric value of each breast had a measurable value, but that's just my point: "total caloric value of each breast" sounds wonderfully dreadful. It's measurable and true — but plain dreadful.
My point is that truth is more than what the average bing-bong deems truth. The measurable truths are true indeed — but don't stop short, ya silly goobers. I know some of you may be uncomfortable with the more elusive realities — like the fawn-esque nature of breasts — but that doesn't make it any less true.
Thus, poetry is just trying to find the rightest words for the job. We can talk about lipids, glands, etc. — and that's all very well and true — but fawns get at the experience much better I suspect.
Similarly, then, I posit that sci-fi and fantasy are the kinds of stories that are merely chasing after the realities we've stifled underneath our post-Enlightenment brains. (What I mean by "post-Enlightenment" is that, in the past, we used reason to draw conclusions; it was incomplete but moderately effective. Nowadays, we only pretend to use reason to draw conclusions.)
I still digress.
My main point is to say that I feel drawn to sci-fi and fantasy because I think they hold truer truths, quiet gems, waiting to be uncovered. I think they hold forgotten lenses through which a man may see more of the world.
Have you gone to a library recently? It is striking to see how the only silent room is one corner shoved in the back. I lament the loss of silence. I think we're malnourished when it comes to silence.
People often talk about "awkward silences." I don't think the silences are awkward; I think the people have awkward insides, and the silence lets them hear their own thoughts. Now, that's scary.
I have less noise in my life but still a lot of sound. The last time I remember being purposefully silent was too long ago, perhaps months ago. I've been noising up my sleep less, so my dreams have been more vivid. The last dream I recall (and vaguely of course) was where I was going through a day. Something was on my heart, something heavy, something I don't remember. I encountered people who said hi, and I said hi back. Everyone was pleasant enough. At the end of the dream, I met some lady. I knew, and she knew, and we wept. I embraced her and told her that I understood. She wept, and I wept. That was it.
The next closest dream is just some vague recollection of doing something pleasant and simple like building something. I don't know.
All that to say that my dreams seemed stifled. Sadness.
Michael! He is full of dreams. I've been making videos for the man, but they seem so lackluster. I mean, it's a learning process, and I'm getting better at editing and whatnot, but they still seem lacking. Maybe that's just the story: he starts off with a confusing life. It gets trippier as you go.
Speaking of trippy, I started playing a game called NieR: Automata. You're an android sent by humans from the moon to Earth to eradicate the invading alien robots who have made Earth uninhabitable. Not only do you play a scantily-clad lady with digital weapons, but you also encounter robots with various levels of angst. One psycho opera boss monster robot thing shrieks, "I need to be beautiful!" as she throws crucified androids at you from a theater stage.
Woah.
While fighting the creature, I was just thinking, "hold R1, press R2, run, run, run, jump, hold R1, press R2."
Writing that now, it seems a way lot trippier than before.
I dig it though. I've long preferred fantasy and sci-fi. I've long preferred the stories that stretch us outside of reality and into possibility — and sometimes into deeper truths.
I have a theory about poetry — and fictional stuff in general: poetry is really just the pursuit of truth. It's just trying to express the thing as truly as possible. I think about Solomon's song: technically, her breasts were reservoirs of glands and lipids, but Solomon described them like "fawns, twins of a gazelle."
It is true that they were equipped to provide milk, and it is true that the total caloric value of each breast had a measurable value, but that's just my point: "total caloric value of each breast" sounds wonderfully dreadful. It's measurable and true — but plain dreadful.
My point is that truth is more than what the average bing-bong deems truth. The measurable truths are true indeed — but don't stop short, ya silly goobers. I know some of you may be uncomfortable with the more elusive realities — like the fawn-esque nature of breasts — but that doesn't make it any less true.
Thus, poetry is just trying to find the rightest words for the job. We can talk about lipids, glands, etc. — and that's all very well and true — but fawns get at the experience much better I suspect.
Similarly, then, I posit that sci-fi and fantasy are the kinds of stories that are merely chasing after the realities we've stifled underneath our post-Enlightenment brains. (What I mean by "post-Enlightenment" is that, in the past, we used reason to draw conclusions; it was incomplete but moderately effective. Nowadays, we only pretend to use reason to draw conclusions.)
I still digress.
My main point is to say that I feel drawn to sci-fi and fantasy because I think they hold truer truths, quiet gems, waiting to be uncovered. I think they hold forgotten lenses through which a man may see more of the world.
There are definitely truer truths than literal ones. Have you ever seen “The Big Fish?” It’s a trippy movie about telling truths through stories and the impact on a son who felt his father was telling him “lies.” Poetry does seem to approach truth by using language in novel ways, and the Song of Solomon is definitely not all literal, or even mostly literal! If it was, Solomon’s bride would be truly grotesque. For a laugh, you can check out the following artist’s rendition:
ReplyDeletehttp://i.imgur.com/O56BsZq.jpg
In Matt Chandler’s book, “The Mingling of Souls: God’s Design for Love, Marriage, Sex, and Redemption,” he explains some of the ancient agrarian poetry but counsels the modern lover not to simply appropriate Solomon’s metaphors. Use your own words, guys! It doesn’t translate so well, hahaha! But seriously, his chapter on the honeymoon was absolutely breathtaking. God is no prude. But I digress.
Silence. Yes. Your hypothesis for the reason for our culture’s aversion to silence rings true. Not many people seem comfortable with silence when alone, and certainly not when in the presence of another. Personally, I find silence to be refreshing. I think I get it from my Dad. He used to pick me up from college and we’d have the loveliest car rides home in 90% silence. It wasn’t awkward, or tense, or even slightly unpleasant. It was delightful. We’d enjoy our internal thoughts and every now and then say, “You know,…” or “I was thinking…” or “What do you think about…” and they would be the richest, most stimulating conversations. But it takes like minds to enjoy such a feast, and it requires that the participants be completely comfortable with one another. Silence is golden, for sure.
I came across a profound quote on silence today, and couldn't resist adding it as a "P.S.":
Delete"If we have no silence, God is not heard in our music." This quote was embedded in a lovely meditation on sacred silence, and the real reason for rest:
http://us16.forward-to-friend.com/forward/show?u=8ebb04e2fd09c950e817c9016&id=2c59455d6d
Happy New Year's Rest-olution!
I have seen "Big Fish." It has been a while, but I recall the theme of using exaggeration to express truth. It was good stuff.
DeleteI like that quotation. Before I read the article, I thought it meant something along the lines of "if we are quiet, we will hear God's voice, which will make our music beautiful because His voice will ring in it."
It also makes sense to have pauses between sounds for balance and rhythm.
I don't get enough silence.
I like the meaning you attached to the Thomas Merton quote. It’s also quite true, and well expressed!
DeleteI also appreciated the article’s connection between silence and rest. The two are inextricably related. So the need for more silence in one’s life begs the question: what enables true rest?
Dudette! If you find the answer, please let me know!
Delete