One Hum We Both Could Share

2 Aug

The following post is an extract from the novel I am currently working on, Working Title: “Munay”. Being an artist is strange, guys, so don’t be surprised if the upcoming posts seem rather eclectic and all over the place. I have developed a spindle of legs and am currently walking down several roads simultaneously. Bear with me: it might all make sense in the end. Until then, I hope you enjoy the extract from my next novel…

Probably positioned at the beginning of the second chapter, which I plan on naming “Death”, this extract is spoken by the man in love with the main character, Anahata.


On the first night, I dreamt that the universe had been created by sound. An amorphous mass growing in the void, turning and churning within itself, expanding and contracting. Creating space for species, plants, wars, and beauty – creating enough space for everything that will come. As the universe expanded in complexity, so did its sound.

Its sound was a vibration that created cells, that multiplied them as the vibration increased. That gave them complexity as the vibration expanded into layers of sound. The sound covered the cells with skin, gave them eyes to see and nerves to feel. A heartbeat, the breath of a creature; all sound. The warm rush of joy, the cold rush of fear – the tingle of life vibrating as sound, and sound was the birth of consciousness.

Sound around us, multidimensional. Sound within us, cleansing. And every sound today is rooted in that first sound: the sound that manifested as the universe was created.

If sound could create a universe of such complexity once, perhaps it could create another again? Perhaps it creates constantly… Every time new consciousness is born, a world within our world vibrates into existence: a simple diorama created by a singular sound.

On the second night, I dreamt of you. We were standing in a crowd of thousands of people, none of them moving but all of them talking. There was no way out of the crowd. We were trapped and I saw you looking at me. The way you looked at me made me want to write you a love poem.

I asked myself how would you feel if I wrote you a love poem? Would it surprise you, offend you or confuse you? I wouldn’t want that, because I want nothing other than sufficient country to express my emotions, to tell you that I see you occasionally looking at me and it makes me want to write you a love poem.

On the third night, we stood alone in my dream but our mouths had been taken from us and we were unable to speak. You looked at me and I felt drunk, thinking that I could never fit into your world. But if all worlds are sound, perhaps we could at least share a hum together.

One sound that you and I could share, one hum of the universe that could be ours. Perhaps with time, that hum could grow and create a universe of our own, a place where we can meet. A single-cell universe created by our consciousness of each other; a world that only you and I know of. We’d hum our tune and watch our universe grow like a bubble before us. We’d leave the world when we step inside and sit within, spend time together and share this hum.

When I look at you, I want nothing other than one hum we both could share.


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