Sound without sight

Sound without sight seems incomprehensible to a person who has sight. That’s mostly because before we hear an object we probably will see it first or at the same time. So why is it that when we are void of sight that sound begins to play a vital part in our understanding of the objects, and the world around us. One is able to judge from what direction a particular sound is coming from or travelling towards. A skateboard running along planks of wood, rolls like thunder and then when rolling along concrete the sound is muffled, almost like a grinding sound with the rhythmic clunk of the pavements start and end. Every five seconds the clunk repeats itself not knowing that the sound it makes is just like any other skateboard. Humans can differentiate each other’s voices we have that uniqueness – why not that in a skatebaoard?

If I was to ask someone to spend a day with a blindfold they would say no. But when one becomes atone to living without sight one will not want to lose that foresight. Sound in all its glory has become second nature to sight – people won’t believe it until they see it – I think is how the expression go’s. I heard and believed allot. The far distant cries of a crowd of boys sat round a table, the miniature whispers of a band of girls talking about assignments – the interruptions – the alpha queen or male leading the conversation. Voices – of which were all transcending towards me in different shapes and forms; some were hoarse, others boisterous and the last cowardly – tonally they variated too – some exuded power others weakness and some void of both – fearless warriors chant there goodbye songs, while others sat quietly not saying a word and their breath overshadowed and drowned by the clones of Adam and Eve.

When sound is found in its natural form, this is when it becomes overwhelming. The splashing of water upon water breaks a wave of formidable power. The crushing of that power descends onto the shore, who silently sits there and utters not a word to the bully who repeats its killer punch forever and for miles across the shore. The life of Syphilis endures a similar plague. Wind howls in from the far corners of the earth carrying messages from mysterious strangers to unknown ears. The whistling intensifies if the message is an omen or soothes if it is prayers. The seagulls use these messages to stay afloat, balancing them under and above their wings – with occasional hollers to their parting friends or a war cry to help re unite the lost ones drifting too far off shore.
All sounds eventually become one and a variation of one another. Mozart’s symphonies are not one instrument but a variation, a myriad collection of different strings playing in harmony with each other and just the same – when one gives into sound and forgets about sight, even if it is just for five minutes the melody of life in that particular place and time will become evident and for that instance that person with the aid of sound becomes part of that life melody.