Imagining back to a time before all things, I wonder about the sounds that inhabited our dear universe. How quiet they must have been or maybe not. Was the beginning so docile, so delicate in its quest to harvest an endless horizon, a tireless unfolding that things did not collide in the forever nighttime? It seems we will never know so I will venture that this emergence came with the widest variety of volumes and sonic exploitation. The universe came forth through a cosmic predication of sound, the art form of the visible creating the invisible.

This places us at a fortuitous place within the grand cosmic narrative of sound generation – in Willy Wonka’s words, “We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dreams.” And in this idea, music sits before us at the dawn of our being, it makes us, it comes through us and then we make it. Such an incidental yet marvelous place along the matrices of space and time, for it is only through space and time that we are given the means of perception. Like an all consuming ocean, we live in the chances of vibration, of frequency, of harmony and of rhythm and periodicity. In far off regions of the universe the earth resembles a particle of dust, yet we sit here now in the revelatory nature of these chances.

My limber poetry may seem at its height, though I see my verbal dance to live just as imprecisely as the music in this fluid ocean of potentiality. So be it. The more my words can play off of lips and bounce unknowingly, the more potential for them to as well become music.

Let us be music, let us have no beginning or end, let us reconnect with the great ocean and swim where all creatures communicate and dream and forever feel their roots untangled from earthly presumptions into places unfathomable. To, “Be like water,” as Bruce Lee so simply put it, is a feeling where we exist most freely and within the unlimited yield of sound.