Ming the Mechanic:
Sounds of Silence

The NewsLog of Flemming Funch
 Sounds of Silence2004-05-05 17:38
13 comments
picture by Flemming Funch

A reminder from Dina. The Sounds of Silence:
"And in the naked light I saw
ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
people hearing without listening.
People writing songs
that voices never shared,
no one dared disturb
the sound of silence.

Fools, said I, you do not know,
silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
take my arms that I might reach you.
But my words like silent raindrops fell
and echoed in the wells of silence"

Listen. Instead of falling prey
to our neon Gods.



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13 comments

5 May 2004 @ 18:10 by Hanae @69.33.46.10 : ...Sigh...
Aaah...The sounds of Silence, how appropriate...a timely reminder.

"...a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence."  



5 May 2004 @ 19:11 by Aiden @69.33.46.10 : Aaaah...indeed!
Following up on Ming's post above, I took a look at the Radio Community Server and at Dina Mehta's Blog - "Creative Chaos", good one that. So is the quote from Maupassant.

I also found this from another Radio Weblogger who was listing a few of his favorite visionaries:

"Some are diamonds in the rough, their signal often mistaken for noise; others are so unassuming that people hardly notice them. Others yet are just beginning to gather momentum on issues whose importance will probably have become blindingly obvious a few years from now. All of them envision big changes, and the glimpses I've had into their unusual minds have convinced me that they are onto something important, so I keep an eye out."

I'll take this as a sign that the blogging culture is alive and thriving. And, yes, they (those and others) all are on "onto something." Certainly worth keeping an eye out!  



5 May 2004 @ 20:32 by ming : Diamonds
I didn't guess whether Seb considered me one of the diamonds in the rough or one of the unassuming people. Well, probably not the latter.

Anyway, I think we're all together onto something. Even if we don't know what it is yet.  



5 May 2004 @ 20:58 by Aiden @69.33.46.10 : Yeah :-) That's the beauty of it
Hehehe...does your blog (and all the things you've been putting together) goes under the "unassuming people" category? Probably not.

"But Ahhhhh my foes and ohhh my friends
It gives a lovely light"  



6 May 2004 @ 09:10 by Seb @198.164.40.31 : Humility
Actually Ming, for some reason you come across to me as quite humble in spite of being very capable.  


6 May 2004 @ 09:46 by ming : Humility
Thanks, Seb. Well, I kind of feel that way inside. But since I've noticed that I seem to come across to some people as an arrogant sonofabitch, I've learned to live with it either way.  


6 May 2004 @ 11:12 by Aiden @69.33.46.10 : If I have to choose
between an "arrogant sonofabitch" and the false humility of a Tartuffe, I think I' ll pick the former rather than the latter.

And, hey, for what it's worth, you don't strike me as an "arrogant sonofabitch", Ming—on the other hand, you don't strike me as "quite humble" either, but I wouldn't have you any other way ;-)  



6 May 2004 @ 12:28 by Hanae @69.33.46.10 : I'll second that
"oh daddyo you know you're still number one"

I don't know anything about the humility thing (we all have our moments and I don't think anyone should be judging anyone here) but I like your style and I like what you do.  



6 May 2004 @ 14:30 by Sellitman @69.33.46.10 : Humility
The Story of Indra: "What a good boy am I!"

This story comes form the Upanishads, the sacred writings of Hinduism. It is told by Joseph Campbell to Bill Moyers in the PBS series The Power of Myth:

… at the gate of the palace that is being built, there appears a beautiful blue-black boy with a lot of children around him, just admiring his beauty. The porter at the gate of the new palace goes running to Indra, and Indra says, "Well, bring in the boy." The boy is brought in, and Indra, the king god, sitting on his throne, says, "Young man, welcome. And what brings you to my palace?"

"Well," says the boy with a voice like thunder rolling on the horizon, "I have been told that you are building such a palace as no Indra before you ever built."

And Indra says, "Indras before me, young man--what are you talking about?"

The boy says, "Indras before you. I have seen them come and go, come and go. Just think, Vishnu sleeps in the cosmic ocean, and the lotus of the universe grows from his navel. On the lotus sits Brahma, the creator. Brahma opens his eyes, and a world comes into being, governed by an Indra. Brahma closes his eyes, and a world goes out of being. The life of a Brahma is four hundred and thirty-two thousand years. When he dies, the lotus goes back, and another lotus is formed, and another Brahma. Then think of the galaxies beyond galaxies in infinite space, each a lotus, with a Brahma sitting on it, opening his eyes, closing his eyes. And Indras? There may be wise men in your court who would volunteer to count the drops of water in the oceans or the grains of sand on the beaches, but no one would count those Brahmin, let alone those Indras."

While the boy was talking, an army of ants parades across the floor. The boy laughs when he sees them, and Indra's hair stands on end, and he says to the boy, "Why do you laugh?"

The boy answers, "Don't ask unless you are willing to be hurt."

Indra says, "I ask. Teach." (That, by the way, is a good Oriental idea: you don't teach until you are asked. You don't force your mission down people's throats.)

And so the boy points to the ants and says, "Former Indras all.Through many lifetimes they rise from the lowest conditions to the highest illumination. And then they drop their thunderbolt on a monster, and they think, 'What a good boy am I.' And down they go again."

When the boy is talking, a crotchety old yogi comes into the palace with a banana leaf parasol. He is nakes except for a loincloth, and on his chest is a little disk of hair, and half the hairs in the middle have all dropped out.

The boy greets him and asks him just what Indra was about to ask. "Old man, what is your name? Where do you come from? Where is your family? Where is your house? And what is the meaning of this curious constellation of hair on your chest?"

"Well," says the old fella, "my name is Hairy. I don't have a house. Life is too short for that. I just have this parasol. I don't have a family. I just meditate on Vishnu's feet, and think of eternity, and how passing time is. You know, every time an Indra dies, a world disappears--these things just flash by like that. Every time an Indra dies, one hair drops out of this circle on my chest. Half the hairs are gone now. Pretty soon they will all be gone. Life is short. Why build a house?"

Then the two disappear. The boy was Vishnu, the Lord Protector, and the old yogi was Shiva, the creator and destroyer of the world, who had just come for the instruction if Indra, who is simply a god of history but thinks he is the whole show.

Indra is sitting there on the throne, and he is completely disillusioned, completely shot. He calls the carpenter and says, "I'm quitting thebuilding of this palace. You are dismissed." So the carpenter got his intention. He is dismissed from the job, and there is no more house building going on.

Indra decides to go out and be a yogi and just meditate on the lotus feet of Vishnu. But he has a beautiful queen named Indrani. And when Indrani hears of Indra's plan, she goes to the priest of the gods and says, "Now he has got the idea in his head of going out to become a yogi."

"Well," says the priest, "come in with me, darling, and we will sit down, and I will fix this up."

So they sit down before the king's throne, and the priest says, "Now, I wrote a book for you many years ago on the art of politics. You are in the position of the king of the gods. You are a manifestation of the mystery of Brahma in the field of time. This is a high privilege. Appreciate it, honor it, and deal with life as though you were what you really are. And besides, now I am going to write you a book on the art of love so that you and your wife will know that in the wonderful mystery of the two that are one, Brahma is radiantly present also."

And with this set of instructions, Indra gives up his idea of going out and becoming a yogi and finds that, in life, he can represent the eternal as a symbol, you might say, of the Brahma.

So each of us is, in a way, the Indra of his own life. You can make a choice, either to throw it all off and go into the forest to meditate, or to stay in the world, both in the life of your job, which is the kingly job of politics and achievement, and in the love life with your wife and family. Now, this is a very nice myth, it seems to me.  



19 Aug 2016 @ 04:38 by National drink of Pakistan @39.36.81.64 : Malik
The tragedy in Pakistan continues to worsen as relief supplies and aid fall far short of what is required. More aid is anxiously needed as the potential for millions of fatalities begins to loom.  


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