Jessica Bibbee

Posts Tagged ‘sound’

20180214

In aphorism on 20180214 at 23:55

For fear of making a sound, the fool clings to a bell she dares not ring.

20160917

In aphorism, proverb on 20160917 at 23:55

The fool fills a void with a vacuum.

The silence of a void cannot be filled with the sound of a vacuum.  

20120427

In aphorism, poetry, proverb, rumination on 20120427 at 23:21

The fool seek dominance, the wise seek balance.

The fool make noise, the wise make music.

Art is unnecessary, and that is precisely what makes it necessary.

Music is a gift that we can give to or deny our children.

With fervor is there urgency in purpose.

Musicians are magicians.

A will is the wishes of the living respected by the living once the living days have passed on.

Music is the sound that the heart makes between beats.

But with the presence of a void does a note resonate, like the oxygen that fuels a flame.

The art of management is to exploit strength and mitigate weakness.

Exercise the metamuscle: think about your thinking.

《the war within》
War is something you
create
carry
kill
within your heart.

20111012

In rumination, tale on 20111012 at 13:14

《Sink or Swim》

This is the story of how a child, a boat, a voice, and a choice found each other:

On some days, the sun shines and the wind blows.

It is on these days that boats float and children dream.

On the breath of the wind, billowing white clouds moved with silent excitement across blue skies and gazed deeply over still blue waters.

Far down below, a Child found a boat, and soon found herself afloat in the boat. But for shame, as the child would soon also find herself in a boat with a leak.

The stillness of the water slowly, but surely, greeted the shell with its silent entrance.

And so the Child did what only the Child could do, and that was to lift the water out again to the expanse of the blue.

Stymied, the Child thought, “I just wanted to go for a sail, but instead, I find myself with water to bail.”

A Voice said to the child, “It seems that would make you a plumber, not a sailor.”

The truth in these words so captivated the Child’s mind that the Child didn’t stop to question from where the voice came, but continued moving the water.

With a sigh, the Child replied, “‘Tis true -but I haven’t a choice, have I? I can only hope to stay afloat. How can I even dream of sailing this boat?”

“Oh, but you do and you can!” said the Voice. “You do have the choice to go overboard or to give up your dream. But, either way, you must abandon the naiveté with which you first boarded this boat.”

In silence, the child continued to empty the water from the proa back into the blue.

“Shall you jump ship and learn to swim? Or shall you give up your dream?”

The Voice waited.

The rhythmic sound of water leaving the boat ceased.

The Child peered into the water, leaning over the edge of the boat. And for the first time, the Child caught sight of her own face in the undulating mirror.

But in doing so, the Child had rocked the boat, to the point that more water threatened to claim its whole. And without thinking, the Child quickly returned to the center of the boat, seeking balance and stability.

The rocking slowed, and the Child at last spoke. “I must lead with my brain, but I must also follow my heart.”

Splash! The boat rocked once more.

And the silence that ensued was followed only by a ripple so large that spread so far, that its waves reached well beyond the limits of her shore.

20110922

In aphorism, proverb on 20110922 at 23:38

Imposition of the self is will.

The fool’s harmony sounds, simultaneously, many times a single note.

20091007

In aphorism, proverb on 20091007 at 16:05

If you have lost your focus in life, look to the lessons of photography: bring more light to your subject or reduce the speed.

The rich and the poor alike go barefoot.

The masses will follow a fool idea from the sound mind before following a sound idea from the mind fool.

The fool accept gratitude without humility.

If you want to make an impression, be riveting; if you want to shape, be flexible.

Water fits in a vase only by conforming.

Sooner the ice to melt than the water to freeze.

The freeze that comes before the thaw is Autumn; the thaw that comes before the freeze is Spring.

A good writer not only gives new ideas, but enables new ideas.

20060131

In poetry on 20060131 at 23:10

《the sex of poets》

The sex of poets emanates –
flowing as without edges,
contagious as without knowing;
words play
back and forth –
a rhythm, ever changing,
follows whereby one leads
until the pull of the next.
One moment
as without definition,
nor clearly sided with neighbors –
rolling one to the next.
Beckoned without call,
it is from a distance that
one sees deep into the heart
where life seems both
to stop and start, again –
without pause and
with the haste of lovers
kept at bay, unwilled.
The words sear clear,
sharp and pure.
They exist alone,
and yet are fed
by the hunger of ideas
yet tossed,
yet exposed –
as if the virgin ever lived
within the eyes of the soul;
forever waiting,
forever with hunger –
fresh as the moment to follow.

The sex of poets lingers
past the setting sun
into the morning dew,
where one knows not for sure
if the climax be truer
at the final release of
thoughts never felt, – or
perhaps at the time
of response; the
lover’s words, a compliment,
meshing with, as if one.
Almost beyond a reality,
the words live on
to dance without end,
to breed a careful song –
as if in tales of lore,
existence never certain.
Fleeting, though strong;
Skirting, though present –
The moment speaks not
of tangible truths
that speak of tomorrows,
but rather the window
rarely looked into –
it is there
it is waiting,
but cannot be taken with you,
nor fed to the mortal –
only to continue
in the souls of lovers –
perhaps truer than
the love of lovers itself.

The sex of poets preys
upon the passion saved
over years and decades
desires of the flesh
never satisfy the wound
of ages past
of pains neglected
merely masking in mum
the yearning ever mounting
to release with a single
sound
The silence is broken,
fears relinquished;
the rebirth of hopes
fills the air –
thick with the essence of now
and hint of next,
never to be sure.
The bliss lies within,
ever longing.
Separate worlds entwined –
an affair of the id
within…
Never lucid to the searching,
but in control.
When no longer logic bids you
surrender, at last call
with bursting souls;
hungrier still, the eve –
power of the word
has finally come, the time.