To listen. Listen to receive. Receive to listen. To pass like wind through the landscape.
As I headed North to Grande Entrée, I felt a call to go on a solo hike through the woods, dunes and beach of L'Echouerie Beach at the East Point. In the last century, the beach was an important refuge to a colony of walruses. However, on this day, I didn't see sign of any living beings other than birds for miles along the shore. The wind was almost non-existent, the sun was out and I felt in a dream-space.
After having spent the prior few days recording, I decided to not take any gear with me. I wanted to listen, but not just with my ears. I wanted to listen with my whole body. As I walked, I imagined there were ears on the soles of my feet, and with every step, I let the ground/sound receive me. I was so quiet and resonant with the environment, that the songbirds were coming close.
Is it possible to inhabit silence?
The way in is the wind.
As I met the waters edge, I saw a gull feather resting on the beach. I kneeled down to look closer, and it began dancing. A kind of ecstatic compass dance, turning over on either side and changing directions repeatedly.
I then walked again, and began to hear the sand singing beneath my feet. Naturally, I began walking in a small circle, and allowed it to get larger and larger — a continuous echo of the original gesture.
After the echo-circle walk, I found my way inside a small dune, and took a nap. Upon awakening, I was covered in sand, including the entire right side of my face. That night I dreamed of the creation time of the Islands. The time prior to human inhabitants. I looked closely at the geology, and saw the beaches as wings underwater.
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