— Christian Wiman

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

The new possibility opened up by recent technology of ever-present, unbroken and potentially instant communication has had a fundamental effect on human relations, presenting us with modes of communication unprecedented in human history. Although there are some good effects, one of the bad effects is the potential for degradation in human relations in respect of the capacity for, and habit of, empathy, understanding and thoughtfulness between individuals, and an undermining of the expectation of reasonable anticipation in relation to others and the consequent relief from the responsibility of having such anticipation. Many technological developments have changed human life. But one that so strongly determines communication, when communication is such a central part of what it means to be a person and to have relations with others, is bound to have far profounder effects than most other technological changes.

 Are you happy? It’s the only

way to be, kid.

Yes, be happy, it’s a good nice

way to be.

But not happy-happy, kid, don’t

be too doubled-up doggone happy.

It’s the doubled-up doggone happy-

happy people … bust hard … they

do bust hard … when they bust.

Be happy, kid, go to it, but not too

doggone happy.

Carl Sandburg

As children, our grandparents could hope to swim in a lake or lie in a meadow for whole afternoons without hearing a motorboat, car or plane; today the engineless hour is all but extinct, and we’ve grown accustomed to constant, mild auditory intrusions. “Humans are becoming an increasingly more urban species, and so we’re surrounding ourselves with concrete and buildings” and “the low hum of the urban landscape,” Pijanowski says. “We’re kind of severing the acoustic link that humans have with nature.”

Quiet is related to openness in the sense that the quieter it gets — as your listening area increases — your ability to hear reflections from farther away increases. The implication of that is that you get an immense sense of openness, of the landscape reflecting back to you, right? You can go out there, and you stand on a mountaintop, and it’s so quiet that you get this sense of space that’s unbelievable. The reflections are coming to you from afar. All of a sudden your perception is being affected by a larger area. Sound has everything to do with place.

Hearing arguably fixes us in time, space and our own bodies more than the other senses do. Our vitals are audible: sighing lungs, a pounding pulse, a burbling gut. John Cage, the composer, once tried to observe complete silence in a soundproof room, but he still heard distinct noises — made, it turned out, by the nerves and blood of his own body. “Until I die,” he concluded, “there will be sounds.” We can shut our eyes at will, but not our ears, and what we hear is penetrating and physical — a wave entering our head.

I could hear the vastness of the valley — no sound marks materialized, like buoys bobbing on an empty ocean, to segment the sense of infinity. The landscape enveloped me, as Betchkal said it would, and I felt I was the landscape, where mountains and glaciers rose and shifted eons before the first heartbeats came to life.

(Source: petitchou)

—

Carl Sandburg

from Explanations of Love

Let me be your baby, south wind.

Rock me, let me rock, rock me now.

Rock me low, rock me warm.

Let me be your baby.

Comb my hair, west wind.

Comb me with a cowlick.

Or let me go with a pompadour.

Come on, west wind, make me your baby.

North wind, shake me where I’m foolish.

Shake me loose and change my ways.

Cool my ears with a blue sea wind.

I’m your baby, make me behave.

And you, east wind, what can I ask?

A fog comfort? A fog to tuck me in?

Fix me so and let me sleep.

I’m your baby—-and I always was.

Carl Sandburg

— John Lubbock (via bigriverr)

(Source: elige, via just-breezy)

— Kenneth Rexroth

— Sri Chinmoy  (via dnyy)

(Source: moreofamore, via intended-thing)