This weekend I attended a funeral. It was held in an Anglican church that looked small on the outside but vast and spacious on the inside. One part of the service, The Commendation, used the following passage:
Yet even at the grave we make our song.
This reminded me of the draft below and made me think of editing it a little.
Last week Leah posted a TED talk from John Lloyd about the invisible. Basically, he says:
The more you look at something, the more it disappears. But, the most important things in life are things you can’t see.
This made me think of my unfinished draft also. Our use of sight, and our addiction to sight, means we analyze and cut and segment things until they disappear. However, the presence of sound stirs at us, tugs at something within our very core. With sight, we disappear and things become more complex; with sound, we are present and we listen or join in.
So I got to editing again.
The title and first draft came a few months ago while I was going through Rifkin’s The Empathic Civilization.
Due to later conversations with George and with Joshua, I had returned to it and edited it. I think at this point I better hit publish, or else I might just edit it down to nothing at all…
It is a Strange thing to Write in Harmony
by Andrew Gilchrist
It is a strange thing to write in harmony.
Twin pens poised,
Scratching away at syncopated counterpoints.But to strum or sing or beat a rhythm
Together,
That is not a strange thing.
That is the point. That is the defiant song against still life.
Call to others to listen and experience,
To join and participate,
Embrace,
Become one with song,
Echo the great moment
Together, hold it amongst ourselves as long as we can,
For such rebellions, such rejoicing,
Should not die.
Sound fills.
Sound breathes.
Sound embodies.But to write is to dissect, to disarticulate.
Knowledge comes by the cut.
To put subject first
Then separate
From object.
Sight extends,
Exacting the subtle knife.
Remove and reflect
In isolation.
Distance the one from the all,
Cling righteously to an unpossessive point
of view,
And decline the enchantment of communion.
Sight is singular, diminishing because of it.
Sight cuts.
Sight separates.
Sight withdraws.Should we try and hold back that abyss?
With sensory delusions, chemical mockeries, mechanized phenomena,
we can refute and collapse, all and one,
in that all too persistent vanishing point.And you lose us in the periphery.
What would sound say of periphery?
It is a strange thing to write in harmony.
Twinned pens synchronized,
Scratching only a promise of consummation.I resent your promise,
I miss your presence.Yes,
I would love to hear your song.
[softly edited, Sept. 5 - still a little worried about that middle part]
What do you think?
I might make an audio version of this and include it.
How can the point come across in the visual medium?
*Sigh. *



Last night I was eating my rice and salmon and flipping through channels when I stumbled upon
from the old tech tv (does it even get capitalized anymore?) because I didn’t really know what to do for Friday’s post. That’s how I remembered Leonard is always there for me.







