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David Michael Draiman, lead singer of Disturbed, is both resurrected bard and corporeal narrator in this evocative music video for The Sound of Silence, a cover of the 1964 Simon & Garfunkel classic. It is no fluke that this video has generated well over 527 million views (and counting). It is the perfect union between a somber song inducing introspection, and grayscale visual representations of deeply rooted mythic archetypes nestled firmly in the Western ethos. Even after the passage of over half a century, the lyrical meaning for what fully constitutes ‘the sound of silence’ in public consciousness is still an evolving understanding. The examination here continues that conversation within the context of the seeming nether world conjured in Disturbed’s official video.
527,402,531 views
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9Dg-g7t2l4
Werner Zoglauer, www.mindofhistory.com
“The pavement, alternately black and white, symbolizes, whether so intended or not, the
good and evil principles of the Egyptian and Persian creed. It is the warfare of Michael and
Satan, of the Gods and Titans, of Balder and Lok: between light and shadow, day and
night; freedom and despotism …” Albert Pike, Morals and Dogma of Freemasonry, 1871.
Burning piano keys, and singular piano
notes--like tiptoeing footsteps--start the
song, setting the tempo for the whole
symbol-drenched, audio-visual experience.
Is the sound of silence an internal disorder afflicting
how one communicates with outer realms, or is it an
external phenomena complicating how the masses
navigate communication within?
Choices, akin to individual piano notes, determine a
soul’s harmonious balance with the universe. Where
multitudinous discord can lead to collective
disharmony, a spiritually symphonic-minded
populace will resonate to a higher frequency of
purpose. What happens to those souls reverberating
in discomposure and dissonance? In Disturbed’s
official video for The Sound of Silence, such souls
seem to be languishing in a muted dominion. But is
this hellish sentencing a self-imposed penitence, or is
it karmic justice? Guilt is a fickle executioner.
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
A familiar theme found among cosmologies concerns
the divergent principalities of light and dark, which
sparks the persistent demarcation between day and
night. In some of these tales, the two conditions exist
without conflict, while in other cultural renderings, the
dichotomy between true illumination and darkness is
part of an eternal struggle.
In the Biblical Genesis, though darkness clearly
precedes the light, it is not beloved. Consequently,
God made a contrary condition more suitable to his
liking. “God saw that the light was good, and he
separated the light from the darkness.” And in the very
next line, God extended this division into day and night.
While God clearly favors the light, the two domains are
not adversarial. (All the bad stuff happens much later).
Zoroastrianism, however, evolved a more immediate,
precarious duality. Though endowed with certain
advantages, Ahura Mazda of the Endless Light
contested daily with Angra Mainyu (Ahriman), who
personified the Endless Dark. Their skirmishing is fated to
continue until Gochihr, a meteor, crashes to earth, with
its “fire and halo” setting the whole world aflame.
Although the Darkness in Disturbed’s official video for
The Sound of Silence is omnipresent, it does not appear
to be openly malevolent. Hence, this ethereal realm
seems to exist more for edification than damnation.
The lyrics indicate there is no estrangement or animus
between the bard (David Michael Draiman) and
Darkness itself. The bard greets Darkness on its terms,
respectfully enveloped in shadow with eyes closed. He
wishes to speak with his old friend, not condescendingly
to. As the bard begins his testimony, light quietly fades
in, symbolically complementing the vision he received.
And the vision that was planted in my brainStill remains
Within the sound of silence
A full manifestation of light encompasses the bard’s now wide-eyed visage the moment he says ‘vision’ a 2nd time. Here, the bard has revealed his knowingness to the Darkness; he has no fear while immersed in light. Nor is the bard afraid to transmute to the Darkness mental images of his vision. A guitar is unearthed, and a drum is reached for on high. These instruments of earth and sky (chords and tones) will be the means of spiritual elevation or necromantic extrication for souls to abscond from their plane of silence and darkness. It is perhaps instructive to note the bard mentioning he has a brain. Rhyming scheme aside, while a pale shade of the underworld will still have a mind, it will not have a brain, per se. Our bard is human and this song is his tale of vibrational ascension, and the visual conjurations he conveys to the Darkness show how others will follow his path back to the living, where the Darkness has no jurisdiction, and ironically, no voice.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
The true pilgrim’s path is never easy. Even when the footing is sure, the destination can be
unclear. Fortunately, though the guitarist and drummer walk independently, they are not
spiritually unaccompanied. They have the example set forth by the bard to steady and direct
their steps. At least the halo of this street lamp projects some hope into the mist, unlike the fiery
halo of despair of Gochihr’s end times fame. There is further evidence to indicate physical form
and function have returned to the bard’s apostles undertaking this journey. Environmental
factors such as the ‘cold and damp’ must be endured. The answer to how this transformation
from spirit-to-flesh was made possible is provided in the upcoming three lines on the next page.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Excerpt from The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
The word ‘neon’ is most operative here. To a person living in an urban setting, a
neon light might represent a commercial calling for all materialistic and hedonistic
cravings of the flesh. However, for our bard and narrator who was, presumably, a
spirit caught up in a state of purgatory, the neon light acted as a catalyst by
introducing a new stimulus into his mundane afterlife existence. Etymologically,
the word neon is derivative of the Greek neos, meaning new. Neon is also a rare
atmospheric gaseous element (Ne), occurring 1 part in 55,000. The eyes are a
window unto the soul, are they not? Seeing a sudden, unexpected flash of this
scarce airy component in these infernal regions evidently woke our narrator from
his ghostly torpor, and, if it did not yet fully restore his physicality, it most certainly
reestablished his physiological desires. The flash of neon light didn’t just stab the
bard’s eyes, it imbued him with human cognition, as it implanted the guiding
vision into his brain. By splitting the night, and touching the sound of silence, this
neon spectrum fortuitously cracked the defenses of darkness, providing a means
of egress from the binding spell of limbo.
And in the naked light I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more
Once the bard’s eyes fully adjusted, he not only saw
through the neon diffusion, he was able to see the
light, naked---shorn of its prisms. And in his expanded
awareness he saw ‘ten thousand people, maybe
more’ still stuck in the illusion that is their prison. The
guitarist, standing along the same shore where the
bard stood, has no doubt had the same revelation.
People talking without speaking
Janus is the Roman two-headed god responsible for
gates, doorways, transitions and time. None can depart
or return without his gaze upon them. Janus sees all
coming and going, past and present. In one legend,
Janus, who was tasked with opening fountain channels,
thwarted an invasion of Rome by unleashing a stream of
boiling water that blocked the path of a would-be
invader, the Sabine Tatius. Defying Janus brought
immediate consequences. In the oldest traditions, he was
a type of sky father accorded the respectful title of Janus
Pater.
In the video, an empyreal Janus seems to be
admonishing the inhabitants of the underworld for
‘talking without speaking’. For Janus, there is little point to
talking in a place of perdition if an entity cannot speak
the words of power to pass beyond the gates. Death
and darkness can dull intellect and intonation. It may be
that the dead in this Hades lack the capacity for proper
articulatable human speech. Their mouths might move to
give utterances to their cries but their spectral minds are
too dimmed to remember the discernable words for rite
of passage. Is this the sound of silence?
People hearing without listening
In Egyptian mythology, the sky goddess Nut is the vault of
heaven. She is the barrier between the Chaos without and
the orderliness within. Her elongated abdomen encumbers all
known existence; her bent over features hem in reality. Nut’s
fingers and toes drape down to her husband, Geb, who is the earth. This links Nut with a sensory perception with all that
happens as above, so below. In part, this ‘as above, so
below’ duality makes Nut an ideal protectress for the dead.
In perpetuity, the sun is born each morning from her womb.
What little light passes to the nether world is Nut’s maternal
doing, for all occurs under her firmament. Though diluted, the
labor-pushed presence of this illumination seeping into their
plane of torment is an extension of Nut’s love (and
atmospheric nourishment) for the disincarnate entities who
cannot partake of the sun’s full radiance on the earth’s
surface. In the video, the light itself is a message of hope: The
Light and the Word are one. And though they are bathed in
the Word of the Light, its potency and veracity are almost
imperceptible above the ceaseless wailing and moaning of
the accursed. Too many voices in mayhem occlude the
stillness within. This is how one hears without listening.
People writing songs that voices never share
As illustrated by the closing of the loop for the half note, the circle of life must continue. It is imperative that those with the creative impetus to write songs (who cannot sing) find true voices to verbalize and vocalize the vibrations and intentions of their words and musical notes. Sharing ensures legacy and remembrance. Not all can be so lucky to be regularly named in prayer or cited in eulogy. A ghost withers most when it is forgotten and forsaken.
The role of ancestor worship was a much more serious affair in occidental legacy than it is today. The ancient Romans, for example, devoted cautious consideration to Lares and Penates, deified familial antecedents and household gods. Venerating the deceased was not just an act of virtue, it was a means of preservation for one’s self, and family. Properly propitiated, the dead were tasked with protecting the city.
How doubly lamentable it must be then for mired-down beings warped in this silence to be bereft of both deeds and glory.
And no one dared
That is, no one dared until now. The line
is both truth and contradiction. No one
among the dead had ever dared until
the resurrected bard and corporeal
(spirit-made-flesh) narrator was stirred to
action. Living blood is a powerful avatar.
Homer, Odyssey, Book XI:
‘Teiresias, my life runs on then as the gods have spun it.But come, now, tell me this: make this thing clear:I see my mother’s ghost among the deadsitting in silence near the blood. Not oncehas she glanced this way toward her son, nor spoken.Tell me, my lord, may she in some way come to know my presence?’
To this he answered:‘I shall make it clear
in a few words and simply. Any dead manwhom you allow to enter where the blood iswill speak to you, and speak the truth; but thosedeprived will grow remote again and fade.’ When he had prophesied, Teiresias’ shaderetired lordly to the halls of Death;but I stood fast until my mother stirred,moving to sip the black blood; then she knew meand called out sorrowfully to me.
Disturb the sound of silence
To disrupt the dirt is to disturb the sound of silence. The dusty infertility of the soil, the half-buried and forlorn instruments seemingly forgotten or discarded by their owners, and the song sheets smothered in dirt are all symbolic of wasted creativity, and possibly ill spent lives. On the further shore, on hands and knees the inmates of this hopeless sanctum slowly ponder paper artifacts reminiscent of their former humanly existence. Willing themselves to stand with the songs of their lives in hand is the first step towards spiritual sovereignty. Only then will each unique voice be able to disturb the sound of silence.
“Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
The bard knows fully well how this sullen underworld
metastasizes darkness into inertness, quietness and
loneliness. To rouse these souls from their shadowy
stupor, the bard discarded his role as simply narrator
to one of more active magical participant. Here he
casts the spell of his voice afar as the drummer
smites a score, and it nearly works to reel in the spirits
stranded on the further shore. However, the distance
is still too vast for the guitarist to reach them with
connecting chords of consciousness.
But my words like silent raindrops fell
There are two principles of elemental knowing at play in this matrix: (1) Water is memory.
(2) The conscious observer can impact his or her natural environment. Japanese
researcher Dr. Masaru Emoto advanced a theory that crystalized water reflected the
vibrations of positive or negative energies directed at it. Harmonious vibrations fashioned
beautifully intricate designs, while discordant vibrations created malformed arrangements.
In short, the double-slit experiment suggests light and matter can behave as both waves or
particles depending upon if they are observed or not. Though the bard has poured his
stream of consciousness into words (particles), and individually each soul willed itself to
stand with their song of life in hand, they are nevertheless behaving in a malignant group
wave pattern, malleable to the observant wishes of the Darkness.
“The world is changed: I feel it in thewater, I feel it in the earth, I smell itin the air...Much that once was is lost,for none now live who remember it.”Galadriel, Lord of the Rings, Fellowship of the Ring
And echoed in the wells of silence
Revelation 11:3. “And I will grant authority to my two witnesses, and they will prophesy for 1,260 days, clothed in sackcloth.”
The souls locked in this wretchedness are ‘the wells
of silence’. Do humans mirror their surroundings? The
earth is covered by 71% water; the average human
contains up to 70% water. If the average 3rd
dimensional human vessel is considered a well that
is approximately 70% full, then one may wonder the
percentage of water below the necessary threshold
a disembodied entity existing in a non-corporeal
realm contains. Carrying over the supposition from
the previous page, that water is memory, it might be assumed that a spirit’s incapacity to store water,
even at the cellular level, is part of what induces
otherworldly senescence for human concerns. A
very empty ghostly well equals much echoing.
Meanwhile, the only individuals outside of the
narrator that seem to have autonomy and a soulful
determination are the drummer and guitarist. The
imagery of the two standing alone unassailed by the
darkness is reminiscent of Revelation 11:3.
And the people bowed and prayedTo the neon god they made
They had nearly done it. Arising from the dust, these
phantoms of purgatory had taken up the songs of their
lives in hand and journeyed to the waterline for a
dimensional disembarkation. Unfortunately, their energies
regressed when they were bewitched by their own life
song’s neon reflection. Whether through agency of the
darkness or just from deluded perceptions, they could
not stop worshipping their own mirroring image.
And the sign flashed out its warning
The Bard’s two witnesses stand in flesh-and-blood testimony while their ethereal brethren take up spiritual instruments of equity. ‘The sign’ is attempting to effect a correction in collective karma but it is up to each soul to atone for the guilt of an extrapolated past. And the two witnesses are there to make sure the moment exists in a deterministic reality.
In the picture immediately below, the caption is headlined: “Justinian And His Ministers With Bishop Maximian Signalize The Reconquest Of Italy.” Soldiers, civil authorities, and clergymen flank the emperor who holds a bowl for the Eucharist. Justinian is not just boasting east has conquered west militarily and politically, he is declaring his temporal successes were sanctioned by spiritual hierarchies.
In the words that it was forming
Pictured left: Once upon a time, on September 30, 1938, the United Kingdom’s Prime Minister
Neville Chamberlain held what he thought were binding words of power for ‘Peace in Our
Time’. The words failed and war came. It is a forever example against the blind enticement of
words not consecrated by light and reason. Pictured above: The souls at the shoreline are still
mesmerized by their own mirroring image. New words had to form to break this enchantment.
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
There are no permanent
standing structures in this
gloomy nether world.
Instead, there are gray
skies for subway walls
and ship hulls for
temporary tenement
halls. If and when the
words of the prophets do
appear, they will have to
manifest as above, so
below, as a sign flashing
out its warning.
And whispered in the sounds
This is the bard’s last emphatic attempt to
counteract the hypnotic effects of silence that
permeate the darkness. Meanwhile, the two
witnesses and spirit musicians have not been
idle; by means unknown they have procured or
manifested a sturdy vessel. There is something
cyclical about the words of the prophets in this
timeless terrain. Even if they miss the mark and
souls fail to board the transformational ark,
words like seedlings (whispered in the sounds)
will eventually implant visions to those still
sleeping, and the bard will begin his song anew.
In Greek mythology, Eudaemons (or Eudemons)
were guardian spirits who whispered good
advice in the ears of humans they were
assigned to watch over. In one sense, a
Eudaemon is simply a personification for when
humans listen to the better angels of their
nature. It is good advice imparted by the higher
self. No matter how long a soul lingers
cocooned in total silence and darkness, the
imperishable higher self eventually prevails.
of silenceThe same singular piano notes that began
the song now provide its bookend. Once
again it symbolizes a soul’s harmonious
balance with the universe, forged by
choices seen and unforeseen. Some will
harken unto the message (of chords and
tones) the musicians bring, some will not.
The silence is the voice
of darkness; it is the
essence and totality of
darkness, and it is out of
desired sympathy with its
condition that the
darkness imposes silence
on others in its realm.
Homer, Odyssey, Book XI:
‘My son, how have you come while still alive
down to this sad darkness? For living men it’s
difficult to come and see these things—
huge rivers, fearful waters, stand between
us, first and foremost Oceanus, which no
man can cross on foot. He needs a sturdy
ship.’
Anticlea, Mother of Odysseus
The inhabitants on the right side of
the screen stand at rigid attention
like abandoned megalithic Easter
Island Moai. The musicians have
come with their instruments of
ascendancy or necromancy,
needing only the words and notes
(that voices never share) to
complete the ritual that could
reanimate their lifeless limbs and
return them to living sentience. The
morning sun rises just as the last
beat of the song concludes. It is a
most auspicious sign, symbolizing
liberation and the rebirth of creative
energies. Freedom is only a
wavelength away.
The Sound of Silence
Hello darkness, my old friendI've come to talk with you againBecause a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleepingAnd the vision that was planted in my brainStill remainsWithin the sound of silenceIn restless dreams I walked aloneNarrow streets of cobblestone'Neath the halo of a street lampI turned my collar to the cold and dampWhen my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the nightAnd touched the sound of silenceAnd in the naked light I sawTen thousand people, maybe morePeople talking without speakingPeople hearing without listeningPeople writing songs that voices never shareNo one daredDisturb the sound of silence"Fools" said I, "You do not knowSilence like a cancer growsHear my words that I might teach youTake my arms that I might reach you"But my words like silent raindrops fellAnd echoed in the wells of silenceAnd the people bowed and prayedTo the neon god they madeAnd the sign flashed out its warningIn the words that it was formingAnd the sign said, "The words of the prophetsAre written on the subway wallsAnd tenement halls"And whispered in the sounds of silence
Written by Paul Simon
www.mindofhistory.com