I’m freezing, would you hurry back, and put your arm round mine, and try to stay focused will you, don’t drift off. I need you to count each time we pass the gate, try not to forget the number, it’s imperative that you remember the number. We locked hands. What do you know of the philosophy of the ancients? Nothing, well, nothing aside from fettered figures trapped in a theater of shadows. And the idea of a circle whose center is everywhere … and … circumference nowhere. Thank you. Yes, yes, but no. I’m thinking of Pythagoras, you know, the mystic philosopher and mathematician. I thought they were all mystifying, I interjected. She politely ignored me. Musica Universalis. Music of the spheres they call it, it’s a terribly beautiful idea. On one hand, mathematically determinable melodic rests and ratios emerge between interconnected celestial bodies, where each is an instrument, as it were, in symphony of planets. A pseudo-religious thesis begging for a pre-given harmony of the world. Tedious. On other hand, through their interplay, these orbs birth a particular kind of music. The sounds are so ubiquitous, they cannot be perceived. However, forget Pythagoras, and concentrate on the peculiar nature of this music. In a certain romantic sense, the idea speaks of planetary music, cosmic melodies. Now, leap with me here. The music is conjured, conducted and played, not just by celestial bodies, but the entire world. Everything. And the song is so omnipresent, so condensed, that it is unheard. Silence. Absolute sound inverts into silence. A constituting quietness. Perhaps, the quietness that makes sound possible, despite being the result of sound? I digress. Are you still following? So, Everything, from the infinitesimal, to the cosmic, from excrement, to nebulae; the parts, and sums, and so on, hold hands, or remain estranged, through an overarching silence, a vibrating stillness. Forget, though, about sets, geometric directions or numerical hierarchies, anything proportioned by the senses or the sciences. Rather, it is pure the resonance of things communicated soundlessly, the inaudible stillness of Everything in relation to the silent sum of All. Do you fathom the consequences? Are you counting, by the way? Yes. I lied, and instead I observed the rays slicing in through the fence, becoming dials in the circular clockwork of the garden. My limited perspectival point, though, drifting along the margins of this temporary timepiece, barred me from properly telling the time.
Desperately, I strained to orientate the spatial presence of my body, my traitorous inert limbs, my tilting head, by solely following the sounds in a simple vector. They refused to heed my directives, and furiously scurried and darted in every direction, scattering along the walls, entering a union with the cracks and crevices which increasingly grew wider and denser, slowly consuming the background.