What is Beyond Words
Stray Lines in a Curvature - Copyright © 1996-1999 by Doug Webb

Stray lines in a curvature
seem out of place,
yet we still look for them.

Inside lines on a mobius strip
come to the surface
where no one can claim them.

We are all looking
for a good line,
but they are all curves.

Philosophy is about points and counter-points
presented as straight lines in The Curvature
which, unfortunately, go no-where.

We describe points as if we could see them,
but a point is a mathematical concept
which a physical dot merely approximates.

If a physical point is a conceptualization,
a line is a bridge between receding shores
over a flow undermining the bridge’s foundation.

A pipe can be broken, but not a river.
A balloon can burst, but not a breeze.
A pot can be shattered, but not dust.

Anything that has a beginning has an end.
If there is a face, there is a backside.
Where, though, are the surfaces of a sunbeam?

Surfaces are membranes of tension
supporting a multitude of hypotheses
as substantial as shadows.

Rumors of waves, storms and rolling surf
are neither heard nor reckoned
in the depths of the sea.

In the sea’s depth
there is no churning wave
and the currents are silent.

The deeps of sea and space
are silent, cold and void -
the heart’s depths are quiet, warm and full.

A river
is a vast flow
of moving silence.

Nature draws us,
absorbs our noise
and gives us its silence.

The voice of the divine
from the Realm of Silence
whispers sweet nothings.

Noise suffocates.
Silence is tangible -
one can breathe it.

Silence has no beginning or end,
nor can it be measured, contained or expressed -
yet it supports the universe.

Self-importance does not satisfy
and self-pity does not soothe.
They do not know Wonder and Mystery.

Longing and anguish are eloquent.
Responsiveness is active
and does not waste words.

Vision connects
what we can see
with what we would not see.

Basic Sanity
has to do with what is
and not what one imagines or wishes.

We see what we expect to see
and hear only what we want to hear
because we cannot stop ourselves.

Silence drives us crazy
to the precise degree
that we are out of touch with ourselves.

Silence
connects us
to the basic sanity of Life.

Noise is not music
any more than ‘the silent treatment’
is silence.

Music soothes the soul
to the degree it approaches silence.
Why not listen to the source?

I’ve talked a lot about silence
as if
it could be described.

A candle burning
in a glass bulb on a restaurant table
is an orb of silence.

A sunbeam makes no discernible sound
and does not draw attention to itself,
but sheds light on anything in its path.

Nature’s way is stillness and movement,
its voice, challenge, invitation or pain.
There is not much noise in the sounds of nature.

From a material perspective,
silence and cold are the absence of sound and heat,
and so we think they are both evidence of lifelessness.

Silence is immaterial
at the same time it is essential -
physical conclusions do not apply.

The problem is
that perception is reality -
as absolute as inaccurate a fact.

Words touching life’s rhythms
are amplified by them
and echo through time.

Silent vibrations in words
inform us of a Voice
that speaks our language.

There was a time when words were sacred
and people respected the power inherent in them.
Now we have many words of little import.

Life is an enigma within a riddle -
there is paradox at the heart of things
and all we know is silhouette and camouflage.

The intellectual search for Truth
travels the by-path Believe It or Not
to a tavern known locally as Wit’s End.

We have to beat around the burning bush
as if we were putting out the fire
or people tend to get hot feet.

Sparkling eyes
glow with you know not what
and who cares anyway?

Veiled eyes, blank as mirrors,
until you step into view,
absorb you, unless something flashes in your eye.

Ah! The low and rhythmic voice
saying all the right things -
but can it laugh, maniacally?

Yellow sunlight and bright reflections,
rainbow fringed, off shining surfaces,
and the amber radiance of the night on fire!

The stream of consciousness
flows with gathering excitement
into golden rivers bathing awareness.

The black landscape, where dark beings stand their ground in grayness
while their red eyes glare about attempting to pierce the sweeping wind
and, almost unnoticed, the distant backdrop glow of vaulting dawn!

Our lives are coral reefs
that can only thrive in sun drenched shallows
on the shoulders of inexplicable upheavals.

Like the lotus in lakes and ponds,
we root in the mud and reach for the sun
and our bloom is as exquisite as it is rare.

There is only
radiant joy and knowing wonder
and the deepest reverence.

Can anyone understand a word we say
if they have never seen what we have seen
or felt what we have felt?

Contentment is silent.
Longing is incommunicable.
What is there to say?

The only thing worth communicating
is always between the lines.
There are no words for it....