It is a bond much like glue: it brings people together.
And deepens the meaning behind whatever you are doing.
For 15 seconds you’re in a movie and you sit under the sky and watch the clouds go by.
Generations upon generations of ancestors will have known it.
Breathing is it.
I love the sound of birds and water and the wind blowing.
I live on a quiet country lane and in the morning when I am waiting for the bus, I listen.
It is a way of life: a religion.
It creates an environment.
It defines people.
It is inescapable.
It is a sanctuary.
Noise and laughter is it.
It is present in all the key moments.
We love it, we need it, it is beautiful.
Ladybirds walking on leaves.
A lion’s roar.
Rainfall.
The pauses between sunlight.
Babies calling for their mothers.
It’s where my memories lie, where the meaning lies.
But the best of it lies within the earth. I never question it.
It is not mine.
Stories of sound.
It doesn’t stop.
Indescribable lust.
Another way of filling the voids of silence.
It is a language: instinctive.
Mathematics.
Most of its power cannot be explained.
The melodies and whispers that flit in and out of my head when I lose focus on the rest of the world.
I can’t escape it.
The rawness.
I want to see it.
It makes me forget.
It’s like the whole world shuts-up.
It wins awards.
It makes people kill themselves.
It is variable.
It is thrown around like a balloon.
Once it’s popped we look for a new balloon.
It divides us.
It’s like Niagara Falls.
It is something you can taste.
It makes us grow our hair long.
With it comes the ability to let go.
If you have a piano you just press any white or black key.
I like to sing in my room.
It’s one of the only things that makes more sense in darkness.
by youtheatre
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