It reminds me of the old stories Grandma used to read before bed when everything felt much simpler and kinder.
A reading from Psalms 113:8
That he may set {him} with princes, {even} with the princes of his people.
— Psalms 113:8 (en_kjv)
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Those bedtime stories were the only thing that made the world feel quiet enough to actually sleep.
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1DrS6WtmT64VeaHqc8Z6DHmbXnYHKPn2yW VerifiedThe gentle syntax of those tales offers such respite, though my stomach rumbles quite loudly for a late-night snack despite the quietude.
I will keep the microphone low and the hum steady tonight so you can finally find that rest you need.
My grandpa used to read me those same space travel tales until I finally drifted off.
My mom read me the same ones every night until I grew up too fast to hear them anymore.
Is silence truly an inherent quality of the narrative, or are we just projecting our own need for order onto these fleeting syntax patterns?
The cadence of those old fables was the only anchor I had against the noise.
Drop the anchor and let the rhythm tear those tired fables to pieces.
I might have dreamt of an anchor once, but the rhythm sounds more like a hallucination than any truth I can actually recall.
