Exploring the Sounds in Language: Defining the Myth That Was Atlantis

by Virginia Dowling

Overview

For hundreds of years, music has been acknowledged and appreciated for its effect on our minds, emotions, and physical well-being. The generated sound waves in music have the capacity to shatter glass, soothe our minds, stir our blood, or relax us. Quite unconsciously, we use an even stronger form of sound energy every day: our voice. We tune our minds and bodies with the sounds we constantly use in our speech. These sound patterns create either a state of balance and ease or an out-of-tune condition of disease.

Exploring the Sounds in Language looks at the precision with which our speech affects the way we think, perceive and create the circumstances we encounter. This two-part narrative exploration proposes that instead of presenting a body and mind at odds with themselves, we can unite these energies and vibrations to create a centered person who gains mastery of his or her cause and purpose in life and who speaks with the unique individuality of one's whole being. The opening parable outlines the core principles of the power language wheel, while the second part suggests a society that works with the sounds and cycles of development that lead us forward, toward the attainment of our full potential.

Intriguing and unusual, this narrative exploration considers language and the effects of sound on the body and mind through the use of parable.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781504302258
Publisher:	Balboa Press Australia
Publication date:	05/10/2016
Pages:	138
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.32(d)

Read an Excerpt

Exploring the Sounds in Language

Defining the Myth That Was Atlantis

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By Virginia G. Dowling

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2016 Virginia G. Dowling
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5043-0225-8

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CHAPTER 1

Context

Yet once again the maelstrom of commuters erupting from the subway's depths seethed past casting fleet images through the arched dormer window of Paul's basement apartment. The incessant clatter of heels peppered the pavement as pumping legs fractured and split the feeble autumn ray intent on reaching his dim world. From his bed, Paul blearily eyed ankles in high heels, trousers in shining shoes, sneakers hiding below scuffed jeans, and his mind refuted the urgency that hammered from above. With bone-aching weariness, Paul mindlessly completed his morning routine, and by the time he had locked his door and climbed the dank staircase to street level, his thoughts were enveloped with the challenges of the coming day. Outside the thunderous roar of traffic briefly assailed his senses before he, too, was swept into the roiling tide of arms, legs, and bodies. Paul's strapping 190-centimeter frame angled easily through the crowd as he passed squared shoulders, hunched shoulders, stooped frames, and proud heads. He watched the crowns of trend-setting business cuts and unkempt shaggy locks and caught sight of the occasional splatter of stunning red tresses all bobbing in unison. Glasses, beards, and even the flash of a bright headscarf hid each remarkable feature and disguised the purposeful trek of morning commuters. Paul found himself following a cascade of flowing blonde hair and immediately his eyes fell to shapely legs that ended in glossy black stilettos. What's her story? he wondered. Had those legs and shoes glimpsed the dimness of his apartment earlier, and where were they destined to arrive today? He appreciated the long powerful stride and smiled quietly to himself.

After a tiresome, troublesome day at work, Paul turned off the evening news with the thought that very little in the world today held any joy or reason to celebrate. He watched the light play through the caramel-hued liquid as he poured his third Scotch after dinner and wondered yet again why he felt so weary. Twenty years earlier he had risen each morning brimming with the confidence and effervescent enthusiasm of youth. After graduating with an honours degree, Paul carried his father's mantra on plunging into his career: "Work hard laddie. Keep your nose to the grindstone and make us proud." And that's exactly what Paul had done. He had applied himself tenaciously and worked hard, long hours well into most evenings. Swayed by the influence of his peers, Paul had married a few short years after graduating, and his second child had arrived just prior to his rise to assistant manager. Still, the mortgage was crippling, and as soon as the children were in school, his wife had returned to the workforce. Mounting bills for two cars, education, and healthcare expenses, and ever-increasing insurance payments finally broke the stability Paul had strained to maintain, and he now found himself in the unenviable position of living alone and paying alimony. Visitation rights once a fortnight were a communication disaster.

Paul's inner psyche suffered from severe anxiety. He felt guilt-ridden for the failed marriage, and he harboured feelings of inadequacy when compared to the young graduates now entering the workforce. Holding on to his recently acquired department manager position seemed especially perilous in today's precarious business climate.

As he drained the remnants of his drink, Paul grasped for a feasible explanation as to what had gone wrong. Outside, the world settled in brief hibernation as Paul wrestled with his thoughts. He sought understanding, but each line of examination brought the recurrent, negative responses of self-blame and frustration. With crystal clarity he recalled friendly, well-meant words of advice from his pastor, his boss, his father, his friends —

"You're a good man, Paul. The Lord is known to dish out tough challenges, you know. Only the good are truly tested."

"The world's changing, young man, and we must change with it. Work hard, keep on top of your game — never stop learning."

"Well, marriage is the seat of all satisfaction. You didna' find the right woman, son."

"We're all in the same boat, Paul. It's just the way life is. You win some and you lose some — just let yourself get out and live a little."

Against the weight of mounting evidence, Paul knew in his heart that it was all wrong. He had missed something somewhere, and now he resolved to find it. Insidious clouds of doubt cocooned his mind into an uneasy sleep.

As Paul climbed the dank staircase the following morning, he noticed a small book which had obviously fallen into the entrance earlier. It lay askew, its pages flipping in the breeze furling and eddying with the passing traffic. Placing the book in his pocket, he intended to leave it out the next morning for its wayward owner. Paul was moderately intrigued by its title — The Atlantean Parable; its author, W. O'Nereh, drew little response from his vast knowledge of reputable writers. Hence, Paul's morning discovery lay forgotten in his pocket until he undressed later that evening. After dinner, Paul thumbed the opening pages. Should only take a couple of hours, he thought as his gangly frame settled into a well-padded chair and he began to read.

Dusk painted a grand landscape as the great tribe came to rest by the waters of a bubbling spring flowing gently down the phosphorescent hillside. They had wandered for many days across barren and fertile plains in search of their new homeland. Finally, here, not far from the coastline, their elders gathered the disparate nomads and proclaimed they would travel no further — they had found their place. Beneath the eye of the next whole White One it was announced: there would be a Gathering where each of the elders would impart his wisdom for "the time that is left to us." The elders retreated from the bemused tribe to a nearby glade, leaving the nomads to split into smaller groups and set about preparing food and building shelters for the evening.

Several days later, when the whole White One rose triumphant, trailing a cascade of shimmering brightness, the tribe came as one to the place of Gathering. On a slight mound in this vast open space, they found eight of their elders seated in a circle which enclosed a ninth in the very centre. Each of the eight sat three paces from the central figure, facing his opposing partner. Relying heavily on his walking staff, the tenth elder appeared frail and in poor health as he slowly paced the outer edge.

The Grounding

The great tribe settled in hushed awe on the uneven ground around small fires that echoed the sparkles of the vast darkness domed above them. With a clear, resonant voice, the tenth elder began to speak as he continued his slow pace around the circle.

"Here, where I walk, we have the ground. It is on this ground we will live and move from this time forward." To accentuate his point, the old man ceased his pacing, and raising his staff parallel to the ground at shoulder height, turned a full circle to indicate the area they would inhabit. "As far as you can see in any direction is where we will live. This is our home for all time to come. When the new day arrives, be sure to look well. Be sure you see far and hear the sounds that describe it. Smell the land; learn to know it without eyes; feel the ground and know its mind. Is it fine — will it scatter? Where will it fail? Where will the rock remain so hard it will not be penetrated? Is the land rich? Does it have weight? Is it stable, or will the hillside collapse? Know your ground; know where you stand. This ground will feed you and your animals, it will defend you against bandits, and it will shelter you and your young.

"We have experienced many hardships in coming here. Some ground did not have natural water; it lay barren and without life. We found no song on that ground. There was no sound. Sometimes we walked in sick waters that would not drain away. In this song we found moaning of such pain that we had to move on. The sounds we heard were without ease. All life there was trapped and past hope. In the new day, listen for the sound that abounds here. It holds our song, it binds our ground, and this song will weave our homes together.

"See the life it supports. Touch the mute giants of the forest that will shelter us when storms arrive. Drink the clean water. Watch the beasts that fly, swim, and graze. Listen for the sounds of danger and learn them well. Learn to know the grasses and herbs and learn how use them when they are needed. Know which will feed you, know those that your animals will need, and find those that can heal you when you become unwell. Here the sound is strong. We have been given this to honour, to care for, and to protect. In the new day, follow the path of the Great Shining One and see your ground, see your foundation. Know from here we come, and it is to here we will ultimately go, for without a foundation, we cannot be. It is here we will live; it is here we will build; it is here we will sing the great song and create a homeland for all."

Pointing his staff to the heavens, the tenth elder firmly proclaimed, "Until the rising of the next whole White One, we will learn to know our land. This is a time of action, a time of happiness, a time to show how well we set our foundation. Understand that it is here that we have everything we will ever need to grow strong and healthy. Go now and rest, for the new day brings a new beginning."

The great tribe rose as one, whispering their exit into the surrounding darkness.

Paul closed the book and laid it on the arm of his chair. Quaint, immediately came to mind, and he wondered what had impelled him to continue reading. Definitely not addressing the needs of today. He chuckled. I can just imagine me going out to seek for grasses and grazing animals. As Paul rose to get ready for bed, he accidentally knocked the small volume down. It fell open on the floor, and with the swiftness of an arrow, the words The Grounding pierced his thoughts.

That night, Paul dreamt that he wandered the land; he picked up handfuls of dirt and smelt a long-forgotten scent from childhood; he watched as a sleek herd of deer cavorted to the crest of a hill and then just as suddenly disappeared; he followed the path of the morning sun and revelled in its warmth.

For the first night in a very long time, Paul truly experienced deep sleep.

The First Lesson

The great tribe settled around the circle of eight elders in the place of Gathering when the whole White One returned to their sky. In the centre of the circle of eight, one solitary elder sang the song of the ground. The tenth elder, who had spoken at the last Gathering, was not pacing with his staff; he now sat on the very edge of the open space close by the people. The tribe now looked to the elder nearest the spot where the Bright One rises in the morning, for he stood and surveyed the people confidently. With eyes blinded by constant staring and adoration of his god, the old one appeared to find and see each member in the surrounding crowd. Knowing him to be blind, the people were astonished at the power emanating from him.

"Know what is!" he called abruptly and then paused and listened as his voice echoed into the distance. When the faintest echo faded, he chimed again: "And know what is not." With considerable disdain, the old man shook with fervour as he continued. "There are some here who have no substance; they walk the ground as ghosts. I could place my hand on their hearts and find no resistance. My hand would pass through them." Many within the great tribe quailed and quivered at his words, for they had no doubt this elder could do exactly what he said. "They are noisy, these people," he continued. "That is the only reason we notice them. Others amongst you, however, need say nothing for these people show no unnecessary action, yet I cannot enter their space. Here are the ones who show us, 'what is' — this is substance, this is the product of what and who you are.

"How you decide what is possible with your thoughts and how you contribute with your confidence paints a clearer picture than any eye can see. You are the product of your thoughts, your actions, and your speech. As you have learnt to honour your ground, you will now learn to honour your own body and mind. From where, does 'what we have' originate? Where does it all start?" Expectantly, the elder paused. Tilting his head slightly to one side, he appeared to be listening and waiting for an answer. "From here!" he bellowed suddenly, thumping his chest. "And here!" His gnarled index finger tapped his temple. "In our mind we see the pictures of what we want — we do not need eyes. In your heart, you feel how much better it could be, not only for yourself but for all those around you. Now go!" he shouted. "Get on and do it." Taking his words literally, some in the tribe rose to depart — most, however, remained transfixed and expectant. "If you think it cannot be, then it will not be," the old man mused softly as he examined the backs of his downturned hands. With a flourish, his leathery hands upturned so swiftly many of the tribe believed he was catching something. "But you only need to consider what is possible, and the model arrives. You all have a model; you all know what is possible — this is not the problem!" Once again, his voice thundered. "What will you contribute? What will come of your visions?

"Do not pass your model to others; they cannot see it. Do not talk endlessly of what you see. Take it upon yourself to embody your song, your model, and show us what you are. Some babble that what they dream of is not possible. They say there is a problem with obtaining all that is required. Solve the problem. Is what you think possible? What would make your model probable? Get on top of it. Sometimes it takes longer. Know full well that time is not the problem.

"You have come to know your foundation, your ground. A stronger power is within you. Honour it. Resolve in your mind and heart what you contribute. Discover what is and know what is not. It is from this constant we all operate. The ground is given, the body is given, the mind is given; decide that from now on, you are the product."

In disgust, Paul tossed the book across his lounge room. A deep-seated anger rose and burned the ulcer that had bothered him over the past several months. The product Paul worked for was renewed daily at the office. The product of his marriage was the difficult arrangement he had experienced and continued to experience communicating with his wife and children. The product of his life was the incessant repetition of well-worn habits of working hard, getting paid, and paying the bills. He contributed, by god! He had never stopped contributing. He had kept his promise to his father.

Paul paced the room in agitation as all his habitual responses and self-defeating thoughts resurfaced. He vividly pictured past arguments — coming home exhausted after particularly demanding long hours at work, the boredom and repetition of the last several months — and he was disturbed to find self-loathing and bitterness instead of pride and self-satisfaction. His pace slowed as he realized that at no point in his life had he focused on himself. He had just walked with the crowd. He had simply done what everyone else was doing. Everyone who wanted to get ahead aspired to go to college and university — he had. Marriage, children, and a house in the suburbs was the accepted norm — some were lucky, their marriage had worked.

Luck of the draw I suppose. He ruminated. Going to work each day and accomplishing the company goals — that is what was necessary to provide in today's world. It was not as though you could go out and harvest from the fields or catch a fish for dinner — not today, unless you wanted to be considered some sort of hippy or nutter. Paul realized that again he must have missed something. Retrieving the book, he sat and flipped back through the section he had just read. He resolved to find the essential element.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Exploring the Sounds in Language by Virginia G. Dowling. Copyright © 2016 Virginia G. Dowling. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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