Originally posted by TravelerintheDark
reply to post by Vanitas
I wonder if anyone else has experienced something like this or even remembers seeing this picture?
Well, I have experienced something that could be qualified - no less speculatively - as "similar".
I don't especially like plugging my (by now very neglected) bloggy, but anyone can see it's not even remotely commercial, so I don't think there's
any harm in posting a link from time to time.
If these walls could sing
(It's about hearing music when there was none. I am noting this to spare you a visit in case you're not interested in this particular type of story.
Although I suspect you might like Jung's account, which can also be found there.)
EDIT: I have decided to repost my story (most of it) from the blog here. I don't see a problem with that, but if there is one, please accept my
(Start of reposted text)
It was September 18th or 19th, 1998.
I was visiting a delightful small town by the sea; a town I had visited many times before.
Around 3 o'clock in the afternoon, I climbed a hill to visit an ancient church that stands there, commanding a view over two gulfs.
I was happy to be there, and relaxed, as I usually am after the sea air, with all that iodine, gets me.
But, climbing that hill, I was also saddened on seeing the obvious neglect of the town by its present population.
And so, when I arrived at the top of the hill and leaned on the parapet in front of the church, observing the skyline merging with the sea, a sense of
melancholy took over me as I thought about the town's glorious past.
I like history; I even know a thing or two about it.
I also happen to have a vivid visual imagination.
Which is why it would have been practically impossible for me to resist the temptation of trying to imagine the town as it once was. In my mind, I
tried to remove all the baggage of the centuries, all the architectural additions (AKA houses
), and see the hills around me as they once were,
overlooking the very same sea that I was now hearing, pounding against the rocks far below me.
I turned to look at the church. It was too far "gone" to be envisaged as it once was, what with the additions and remodeling through the centuries
(and besides, nobody really knew how it looked when it was first erected, back in the 7th or 8th century). But at least its location hadn't changed
in more than a thousand years. Regardless of its looks, people had been climbing that same hill for more than a thousand summers, more than a thousand
autumns, more than a thousand Septembers; and, without a doubt, they, too, stopped to catch their breath at the very spot where I was standing at that
moment. The sea was the same as then; so were the mountain crests and the hills in the distance; and the sun, all those centuries ago, shone on their
hair and cheeks as it shone on mine in September 1998.
My spirits were suddenly lifted; I started to feel cheerful as I hadn't felt in a long time. I realised that nothing could really defeat and destroy
the ancient spirit of the city; that the neglect, as destructive as it was, could not reach backwards into time and corrupt what once was. For once
something exists, it never ceases to exist: it CANNOT cease to exist.
I decided to go to the other side of the church, to take in the view of the "other" gulf.
There was a stone bench attached to the church wall. I sat there, leaning on the church wall with abandon, with the back of my head against it. I felt
so good... With my sadness and resentment gone, there was nothing to occupy my thoughts - nothing whatsoever. I just wanted to breathe and relax, not
thinking, unthinking, almost animal-like. My eyes wandered lazily across the sea and up into the sky and back again.
Then, out of nowhere, I heard music. It seemed to be coming from behind the wall on which my head was resting. I was startled. (The church seemed
empty when I had arrived, and I would have heard people arriving to the top of the hill and entering the church.)
I listened intently. Definitely, it sounded as if it were coming from inside the church: a small male choir singing a Gregorian chant - muffled but
For some reason I still find slightly odd, I immediately grabbed my handbag and literally ran to the other side, where the entrance to the church
It was just as I thought: there was nobody there.
Nor was the music, for that matter.
I stood still, holding my breath, so I could catch the slightest sound of any movement, anywhere in the church.
And yet, I still stood there for a minute longer, waiting... something.
Then I returned outside and looked all around me: there were no people, either arriving or descending from the hill.
It's been almost ten years, and I still haven't figured out what exactly was that happened on that warm September day.
There is no question of my having "imagined" it. (My mind was almost totally blank at the moment, remember? And even if I had been thinking about
the church's history - which I wasn't, certainly not at the time - I would not have thought about music.)
There was no visible or audible tape recorder or any other sound device - or anyone to operate them, for that matter - not in the church not anywhere
around it. (The church doesn't have a monastery or any type of dwelling attached; and I didn't have any type of radio or player with me.)
I wasn't under "influence" (alcohol, prescription or OTC drugs of any type) nor was I suffering from any physical or mental condition worth
So... what was it?
No, really - I am asking you: what do you think it was?
(End of reposted text.)
P.S. In case anyone is wondering what is the point of dwelling on personal thoughts and feelings before the "event" - it's because I strive to
include as many details as possible to make a "snapshot" of the moment in all its dimensions (within possibilities, of course), and also because I
suspect the quality and intensity of one's state of mind prior to the "event" are actually conducive to the experience, or at least make a person
more susceptible to such events.
[edit on 18-10-2008 by Vanitas]