Is that me?
Am I underwater?
Why are there two of me?
There’s always two of me. Me and the reflection. In the water.
I feel lost somehow. Gazing at my frozen self. Static under motions. There’s a layer between.
Sound travels slower through water. But further? Is that true?
Light travels slower through water. It refracts and bends.
Angle of incidence.
The coincidence of me in the middle.
I think of the sinking of the titanic. I think of the band playing on into the deep. I think of Marconi. (I thank Gavin Bryars for telling me the story and letting me get lost in it).
Marconi believed later in life that sound travelled on for eternity. Quieter and quieter. Lingering into infinity.
You just needed the right equipment. A sensitive ear and a brain to pick out the detail and you can hear anything ever said.
He hoped to invent a machine that would allow him to pick up and filter out the echoes of the Sermon on the mount. He wanted to hear the voice of god.
You can still bear witness to the radiation of the big bang. The start of the universe is still audible.
We’re still riding on the back of that energy.
Everything ripples outwards.
You, me, in the centre, under the sea.
All of us. Rippling outwards. Muffled and lost in the ebb and the flow.
We need to think about how we ripple out. Remember that it is our opportunity to change the world.
Turn into a wave, build into something with impact.
If we take the time to look at each other, and not just stare at our refelections.
So that’s not just me in the centre, it’s you. It’s everyone else. There is no centre. We’re all layered over each other, rippling and shifting in and out of each other.
All around us are waves. Those ripples from the big bang. The shifting electromagnetic spectrum. From the buzz of the radio (and the music encoded) to the bursting obvious splashes of light and colour and everything (Are those waves? How can they be waves? Let’s not go there) to the invisible and the painful and the strange.
For all my literary blurring of actual science. I am aware that we are surrounded by waves. Sound and light we tune into automatically.
Everything else is still there.
A whole spectrum.
And we’re drowned in it. But we don’t even notice.
It’s amazing how much we can miss.
Even when it’s sitting right next to us. Passing through us.
I see it.
Two people, facing away from each other.
Lost to each other. Drowning in their own noise.
You might hear something special.
Or find someone close by.
If you look carefully, you can see this things,
if you listen carefully, you might hear what you are after.
Image by Adam.
‘Illustration’ by Alex.