…the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight...– The Tempest, III.ii.135-143.
In Inner Experience (1943) the French writer Georges Bataille characterised ‘silence’ as a ‘slipping’ word, describing ‘the abolition of the sound which the word is; among all words it is the most perverse, or the most poetic: it is the token of its own death.’ This is true of the phonetics of the word itself: the strong first stress is followed by a fading sibilance. The word ‘silence’ performs...
In the cold, damp shelter of our primitive ancestors, lit only by the flickering...– John Daido Loori | Editor’s Preface: The Art of Just Sitting. Thank you, 108zenbooks.
II. Virginia Red river, red river, Slow flow heat is silence No will is still as a river Still. Will heat move Only through the mocking-bird Heard once? Still hills Wait. Gates wait. Purple trees, White trees, wait, wait, Delay, decay. Living, living, Never moving. Ever moving Iron thoughts came with me And go with me: Red river river river. T. S. Eliot, Landscapes (1933-1934)