[thoughts from ~burning woman~ ]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVSfgwN_J8Y&index=7&list=RDxdiG6kQMhkA (Armand Amar: “Terre”)
Whenever I listen to Levon Menassian, Armand Amar, or anyone playing the duduk something terrible moves inside my mind. No other musical instrument can ever do the things this instrument of dark magic does. I find myself transported through space and time beyond anything I’ve ever sensed as an Earthian. Such incredible feelings, more powerful than anything, even of what I can remember of being “in love” as it is called. This goes much deeper and the vistas I sense, so much greater. It’s as if this instrument was translating the music of the spheres to me; calling to me from places lost long, long ago. Places utterly alien, beyond all “where’s” and “when’s” – beyond any language I can remember save communication in thought-forms.
If I “force” the engendered feelings to connect to earth, I see endless desert; massive dunes; sand moving under a scorching sun in the searing wind, blowing in curving sheets over the top of dunes. I see a terrain that knows no water, only extreme heat, bitter cold, eye-squinting days and harsh black night under a canopy of flashing frozen stars of greens, blues, reds and yellows. And always the sound of slithering sand, ever moving, ever hungry to bury anything that stands in its path, or eat its flesh.
The desert has always held a fascination for me, not as a friend but more like the eye of a reptile that holds its prey in a helpless trance. For what I remember of the desert is the deepest kind of haunting sadness; of abysmal loss from which I thought I could never come back, not even as a bodiless mind; a ghost. In my remembrance, the desert was my final tomb. No fancy pyramid for me; no cave, just a body upon the parched sand quickly stripped of skin, flesh and finally of bone, becoming part of the endlessly, hungrily questing sand.
The sand: wasn’t it once mighty mountains? Is that why it is so insatiable in its hunger; it’s quest? Wanting to be the mountain again and knowing it shall never be, not ever? Now but a series of low mountains of gritty grains pushed by winds that are as hungry as the desert they render mobile, predatory and ever hungry. Am I like that mountain? Am I remembering my own death in the sands, alone, parched, my skin rendered as parchment to fall down one last time, unable to rise again, watching my body being stripped and eaten?
I remember, of course I remember. The desert is the most alien world my mind could conceive. I come from a water world, and my people on that world were those who lived in the sea, along with the other great sea mammals. We seldom came to land for the sea was our cradle, our life and the sea bed our final resting place. We were the mer-people, fully integrated to our environment. We knew no conflict as we were a peaceful people.
But it all ended in a great catastrophe. Our world was attacked and broken up. Its waters were flung out in space and we, frozen. A part of our world survived the catastrophe and some of us, mutated beyond any recognition, survived and came to life again on this tiny new shattered world with its tiny seas. That world is called “Earth” by the land people on it today. But I did not find “Earth” at first when I re-awakened out of my frozen body. I was on a different world, a world of sand. There was not a drop of water on the surface of that world, though some moisture existed in the air, and deep in underground caves reservoirs of water could be found by those lucky enough. I would have been one of those, but you need more than water to survive on a world. You need food, and that was even rarer than the water. There was an edible and life sustaining substance that could be found in certain folds of sands, and it was in one of those treks, when I ventured out into the “bled” or high desert for this elusive food source that I met the desert face to face and it took my body.
Many, many lives from then, I found Earth, your world, and I saw a piece of the home I remembered. Only now I no longer had my sea-faring body. I had this Earthian body, much like all the other people who walked on the land. I could only remember, and long for the feel of the salted waters entering my body and exiting again, leaving me purified, almost intoxicated, and strengthened. It was not to be. However I longed for my transformation back to my normal self, Earth would not permit it. Our bodies were not part of the matrix of Earth and I will have to wait until I can leave here and find another water world where perhaps some of my people escaped to.
And so is the reason I hear the haunting sounds of the duduk; sounds that tear through this body as the desert sand once did. And it holds me in total fascination, this sound; this Earthian desert music.