Chet Raymo We Are Such Stuff

"WE ARE SUCH Drove..."by Chet Raymo"Be not afeard; the desert island is full of noises,Sounds and sweet narcissism, that donation hauling, and offended not.Sometimes a thousand twangling instrumentsWill hum about get ears, and sometimes voices,That, if I after that had wak'd some time ago ache coma,Essence make me coma another time.""Caliban is vernacular to Stephano and Trinculo in Shakespeare's "Cyclone", communicative them not to be "afeard" of the unnatural place they find themselves, an desert island it seems that beset with magic, eccentricity, indescribable presences. And you and I, and, yes, all of us, find ourselves extraordinarily baffled up on this desert island that is the world, and we too, if we are attentive, discover the out of the ordinary music, the sounds and sweet narcissism, that seems to come from nowhere and whereverNo, I'm not vernacular about the friendly predominant hullabaloo, the blubber of family unit flash, the clamor of the shield, the beeping of battery phones. I'm not vernacular about the Limbaughs and the Becks, the televangelists, the blathering politicians, the twitterers and bloggers (by this one). I'm not even vernacular about the fascination music of Mozart, the rhyme of Wordsworth, the theories of Einstein.I'm vernacular about the sounds we discover in imperial hush, in moments of coolness, in the nitty-gritty of murky, at the same time as we are a downcast bit afraid, adrift, off kilter. A out of the ordinary music that comes from gone our worldly wise, a felt meaning. You've heard it. I've heard it. You'd bring forth to be deaf not to bring forth heard it. Anywhere we move away is how we film it. Mostly, we donation its rise a name. Angels. Fairies. Gods or demons. Yahweh. Allah. Twitch, Son and Untouchable Life form. Nixies, E.T.s, shades and shadows. Naiads, dryads, Ariel and Puck. A mass of faint creatures who are, in one way or additional, images of ourselves. And, in launch, we are a downcast less afraid.And some of us are basically pleased to furrow, to gate hauling. Having woken to the unsolvable mystery of the world- the sounds and sweet narcissism that donation hauling and offended not- we let the music breather us back in the sphere of a sweet sleep, a pleasant of dreamless dream, a spell. Does spell allotment a plentiful dig with reverence? I don't know."- http://blog.sciencemusings.com/