Language...


"Heima" by Sigur Ros

This song reminds me of the time that began writing with vague purpose; their music is reminiscent of the whisper of an ocean at night-time, the gentle rustle that you hear amidst a walk in the forest. I recall the first few times I had occasion to write; it was after waking from a dream in which there was music playing I had never heard before, music which played as I wandered through an empty space in monochrome with slight green hues entering and then diminishing. It was a place like no other, with streets overgrown with moss and the feeling that people had been there but were now gone. Light string arrangements gave harmony to the lament of a guitar being played as though from a distance. 

It is from this strange and melancholy dream that I awoke and wanted to write but didn't have the language. Like the dream that inspired it, the language was there but barely recognizable; it was a light that inspired me but could not serve for anything but illumination. So the vague ideas came: The Forest, Sleeping in the Greenery, Stirring Amongst the Leaves... Falling From the Sky. I am still not sure that I have the language to express what I mean, but it barely matters. Maybe that's the answer after all: continue along the path and see where it takes you; I don't believe that it is the end that matters but the journey itself. That's what the song above reminds me of.

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