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677
The Story of the Man

There once was a man who was doing nothing
Then heard a very beautiful sound.
This sound was so beautiful it brought him to tears.
It levitated him and warmed him in the winter.
It flew him out of this planet and out of the boundaries of time
And as quickly as the sound came to his ears, it left...

It was then that the man cried his most sorrowful tears
After years of crouching in his cave,
Dreaming that the sound had never left his ears
He felt the divine call to reproduce this sound
So he began to use his voice amongst his friends
And attempted to repeat the sweet sound

"Tooooooooo-hhhh-hhh-hhhhh-oooooooo-hhhh"
He said to his friends, and they all looked at him in confusion
None of them understood the beauty of the sound
They asked him with a compassionate worrisome voice
"What does it mean?"

And the man knew not what the sound meant,
He only knew that it was beautiful. And so that's what he said...
His friends merely shrugged and thought
"To Each his own"

But the man knew the true beauty of the sound
And he would not rest until
He could share that feeling amongst his brothers

So he Invented poetry and song,
He began to incorporate words and meanings to the sound
He used metaphors and similes, rhyme and meter
And his friends they woud cheer him on and asked him
"Yes, But what does it mean?"
So the man wrote dramas, and the man wrote stories
And the man wrote novels and the man wrote epics
But his friends rejoiced in the plot
as opposed to the beauty.
They said
"Oh if only we could have heard that sound
maybe we would understand,
the truth, the beauty and the justice of life!"

And the man was puzzled, so he thought to himself
Was makes the sound Just?
What makes it beautiful?
What makes it true?
What made it my own?

And as he obsessed about the sounds,
His friends began to drift off
Seeking bigger and better things
Than the rantings of an old friend

But the man held his faith
And he stood true to his motive,
To bring the sound to humankind
To share the feeling with everyone.

So he tried to recreate the sound
Not through his voice but through logic
He began to put together all the if's and then's
And he created a mathematical equation for the sound

He wrote the sound down as a physical wavelength
And exacted the wavelength of the sound.
But this was not enough,
for his machines could not recreate the beauty of the sound

The sound resounded so similarly
But not quite resonated with his soul
So he thought of his old friend,
Who despite hearing him sing
The most beautiful of all notes
"Tuuuuuuuu-jjjjj-jjjj-jjjj-uuu-jjjj"
None of the heard it the same

He began to wonder if it was not the sound
But the circumstance, the world veiled by the biases of the mind
That had taken the appreciation of the sound from him

So he began to study the structures of his mind
How to return it to the blissful moment
The innocent child in communion with God

But his structures were too complex!
And the world was no longer stretched
to the width of his imagination

He began to understand that
He had lost the ability to feel as a child
And was given instead the ability
to think as the world did

This frightened the man, because
As long as he thought as his old friends
He would never regain his initial wonder
The beauty of the sound,
The wave that had carried him to the shores of heaven
The cruelty that dragged him back to the coldness of Earth

Before he knew it
The sound was all but remembered,
he began to try and emulate it
Searching deep inside his soul
"Douuuouuu-nnnnnn-nnn--ouuuu"

But the note was gone
And all his years were for naught

And in the silence of his sorrow
And the darkness of his fall
He heard it once more

Oh how cruel is it to be blessed
and simultaneously tormented
By the most beautiful sound

Whose only source was his own soul
Resonating with the vast emptiness of the universe
Resonating with the vast emptiness of his mind
Resonating with the vast emptiness of his body
Resonating with the unending and overflowing love
Of his creator, none other than himself.

-Strigiformes

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