Noise.

Anywhere.

Reeling in the darkness, a “resonant darkness”, not silent, dark with thuds, wheezing, breathing. A thick mist, inextricable.

Silence is rare oxygen, then overwhelming again by sounds, fast and never still harmonic textures. I don't recognize instruments, melodies, I listen only flashes:
a procession of noises is seeking its space between incessant clamors,
but soon it is lost among rumblings, relentlessly.

As an astronomer, looking for patterns of heavenly bodies linked to each other, remote up there, I find a pair of binoculars and I point them to the gulf of time, to cross eras, styles and certainties, searching chants now under oblivion, buried under centuries of sounds.

Fog, mist fog, that briefly lifts .. just a blink of an ancient melody, with an unsteady walk and a shaky tone.

And with it a few words, a few perceptible sentences, but with an act of invocation:

" dies mei transierunt cogitationes meae dissipatæ sunt

Libera Me "

The ear becomes blurred, taking binoculars to feel confused resonant touches;

the ancient practices which give life to this music bounce back without order, crushed by the following centuries. But among the din I'm having a new awareness: that music, though lost, continues to live in the sounds that followed it.