{ ‘Qu'est-ce que c'est?’ }

‘You may ask yourself…how do I work this?’

Well met, my dear friend. This is a page about a project I’m creating as a direct response to being a human person: to having human-person needs, and the desire to make sense of human-person experiences. This is a search, however flawed, for a genuine feeling of real peacefulness in a world that seems to have forgotten such a thing could even exist—a world that would tell you to your face that you don’t deserve it…that would do its very best to take your gentle peace, destroy it, and then try and sell you a cheap knockoff imitation.

Enough.

If you’re here, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe you just saw my ad and need your knives sharpened, or maybe you’re looking for a sax to fill in at your blues gig this weekend—I don’t know. But at the same time, if you are here, maybe you’ve also had it with all the fear-mongering and the outrage culture and the cancel-culture in our world, and instead of screaming and fighting and crying and finally just going uncomfortably numb…maybe you’re ready to try something new. Maybe, like me, you need to listen to something that doesn’t want you to be any different than you are. Maybe you need to hear just one sound, for one moment, that doesn’t want to judge you, or censor you, or condemn your right to peace.

Remember that time you were genuinely happy, how incredible that was? Now why can’t that be what life is actually about, rather than a tiny slice? Because from where I’m at, listening to the breeze in the leaves over here, seems like there’s nothing remotely valid coming from any source that’s telling you you can’t be.

I’m telling you the wind told me you deserve to be happy.

So this is me listening hard and catching the wind playing in the trees when it thinks nobody’s looking (although sometimes I think it’s merely pretending not to notice me, for my own benefit).

This website, my work, and the whole strange mess of whimsical wordage to be found here is an effort to ask: what is this? How do I appreciate it? What lessons does the beautiful phenomenon of the breeze hold for those who really devote themselves to it, and how can I begin to center my own awareness long enough to learn them?

A susurrus is a simple thing—a peaceful thing. It is nature’s ancient answer to all of humanity’s best-laid and short-lived plans—the counterweight to our buzzing neuroses.

I would invite anyone reading this to hit the pause button on real life for a second, and figure out how they are actually feeling—in their bodies, in this moment. ‘Why is this pain here? What is that strange desire? Why this sadness, gladness, anger…’ and so forth.

If we do not check up on ourselves, we run the risk of losing who we truly are. Now just as much as ever, perhaps more than ever, we need to find the way to reconnect with what peace actually feels like. And for me, it’s the susurrus…so welcome.

Whether that feeling might resonate with you remains to be seen, but please…grab some slippers—tea’s just coming up—come in, and know me better, man! Whoever you are and whatever your pain is—whatever your joy might be—you belong here with us, and I’m glad you stopped in.

Here mercy speaks to us coyly in swirling, creeping tones. Here, we uncurl our dreams. The budding summons to honesty meets us, floats over the glassy surface of mind…and on it cast we these fragile petals of awareness…queuing to destiny without destination…weaving to pattern without patent…the lacework lilt of patient possibility…the neverland we never knew.

Here we speak in the language of the heartspace, of the dreamspace, negating accident and mocking coincidence, and reverie—the old tongue—reminding us that there can be no wrong words, no bad steps, no off-notes save those we do not release into the ether without judgement. Heads off and hearts up, people. To proceed, we must de-normalize our worldview, unplug our bias from the wall, raise up our frequency like Lazarus himself, and allow for the possibility of miracle and wonder both. My friends, take heed! Ahead, we enter into an irrational zone!

We must remember the crushes; the rushes; the unbelievable memories; the sad memories; the beautiful memories that cannot be known; the memory of memory, that can only be felt. We must gather up our fears and cast them away, into the yawning maw of doubt, and gaze into our selves, staring back at us from that glassy surface—that mirror of truth.

Who are we without the baggage of fear? Without our entourage of worry? Can we really just…let it slip from us, just like that? Is that even fair to our past selves, who fought so hard to get us here, now? Can we honor ourselves with the small, peculiar enchantment of a single moment spent being free from it all?

Would we even know what to do with that moment if we let ourselves sneak off with it?

Well…let’s try it.

If the height of our power lies in the thunderous call to accept one another, then I see you working hard, and I’m proud of you. If the sweetness of humility is found in the allowance of our own energies, then I’m glad I got to be me so that I might share in the act of wonder and togethership. Strange land or no, perhaps we’re not such strangers after all.

If you’re conscious, I greet you. Namaskaar! You are honored; we are parts of a whole; it’s enough for me. Yes, the respect is earned, but the compassion is free. Show me your heart that I might know thee, and help thyself to the bounty of glad tidings at my table. Help yourself to abundance. Go on, let yourself be accepted.

Let yourself be free.

Way I see it, the world is pretty full up on cat videos and Over-Nite Sensations of every conceivable color and creed. Everybody’s got something they can offer up to legitimize themselves in the eyes of their peers. We’re all guilty there…still, I think we’re remarkable beings exactly as is. We made it here, after all, and that’s not a small miracle. So chill out, be yourself, and let your instant karma prowl around outside till you can get back and throw it a bone. It can wait.

So you might say, at its core, the susurrus is about acceptance: ‘Sometimes the breeze blows—Then the trees stir in the air—Sometimes the breeze blows.’ Sometimes we feel the magic and the inspiration of a beautiful, secret world of love and romance and mirth—and if and when that happens…well then we give thanks, and do our best to be present, and dig the ride. But the susurrus doesn’t mind the hustle, and it doesn’t judge the calm…unique and unprovoked by its would-be listener, it loves on the ears in small moments, precious distractions, and savory reminders of all kinds.

Those reminders whisper magic to us, the remembrance of childhood wonder and childish fantasy, the quickening of the heart at a welcome invitation to dance—whether our suitors be human, or, as is far more often the case, simple moments of unbound innocence.

These gems are pure magic, pure dopamine—and they keep us alive, keep us living, not existing. They give us meaning: storing our best selves in the peak emotional resonances of the most astounding times in our lives.

They are our private histories…our treasures.

So let your hair down here if you like, because we aim to see clearly the path back to our own infinity, and celebrate with one another the fact of our own breathtaking beauty.

But…to be our intimate selves, we must know that thing that tells us we cannot. We must eventually confront that fear-breathing dragon that grips our world—stare it down.

‘Well…how did I get here?’

In the halls of higher unlearning we grind astigmatic lenses and squint at tribal totems, chiding one another that we big, busy adults don’t have time for play…not anymore. In times like these—dark, shifty times—hissing, Frippertronic cyberlands—corsair-laden fairways and plastic hallelujah—we trade the little moments for the big hurry, and honest loves for grandiose ambition…but we forget that it works the other way, too.

So let us not speak falsely, now. Who will offer up these ‘hot ashes for trees’?

A soul needs a groove, a spirit cries out for balm but Gilead is down to the wire, grinding the gears. What I think we could use a little more of around is a contentment…ya feel me yet? A shortcut back to the yearning for truth, and the cultivation of its acceptance. What lifts the breeze, then, might lift us just as fondly, if only we’ll let go of the railing of self-doubt and fill up our Poppinsian parasols of delight.

Back to the matter at hand—this thing! Why have I done this thing? Because, dear one, I cannot any longer NOT do it. So the project is a sail, really. Nothing more or less than my own escape pod from the Death of a Thousand Inertias, my little whimsied space opera against the tide of imperial bullshit that threatens to churn us all into our lesser selves, if we’re not careful.

This is me, being as I might be: care-full.

The world is full of darkness, yea, and yet…how can we not be drawn to Love?

“So you say you never heard of the ‘Inner City Blues’
And what’s more you don’t understand it all
What the ghetto folks mean about ‘living behind walls’?
Then put on your best suit, white shirt and tie
And run on downtown to stand in line
For a job washing dishes…but you may not qualify.
Walk a big hole in a new pair of shoes
And you’ve had your first look at the ‘Inner City Blues’.
Go looking for a place to live but all the while
Beware of what’s lurking behind the devil’s smile.
Are we stupid or just naïve, that we continue to believe
Money can buy us anything
Including a slice of “the American Dream”?
Yeah, answer ads in the paper about ‘houses for sale’
And get treated like Charles Manson out on bail
When you start to get frustrated by the tactics they use
You’ll recognize that feeling
It’s the ‘Inner City Blues’
Yeah make you wanna holler sometimes
And throw up both your hands…

And haven’t you ever wondered about
Why some brothers and sisters were down and out?
Receiving their sympathy from a bottle of wine
Or worse yet ‘old homicide’
Living their lives in a glassine bag
While praising the mysteries of terminal scag?
Another set of victims to what you choose
Yeah you can recognize that, that’s the inner city blues
Makes you want to holler sometimes and throw up both your hands…

To see sweet sisters, blossoms of our African tree
Profiling on the corner, talking ‘bout ten and three
Because in spite of all the money we made and taxes we paid
The woman was looking at hungry days and some decisions had to be made
Would you tell her it’s better to go to your grave as a slave to a minimum wage
Well, I hardly think so, but makes you want to holler
And throw up both your hands…

And what happens when people start to think they have nothing to lose?
Nothing to lose…”

—Gil Scott-Heron, “The Siege of New Orleans”

‘Into the Blue Again…’

Change is the constant we face. And as both the Merry Pranksters and King Solomon will tell you: nothing lasts, and this too shall pass…and I guess that’s what makes everything so invaluable in this life.

On that note, should it please you, do find some of my work here:

[wardenclyffe inkwerks] — writing, blogging, content generation, poetry, and wordplay…assorted linguistic weirdness and fancy, made to order.

Bored? Existential angst got your tongue? Need a sharp eye for that perfect résumé, or got a grant done need penning? Don’t be shy…come get some today! (No, really!)

[susurrus studios] — wind-player chops-for-hire, composition, DJ stuff, parties, weddings, whatever Jews call it when they dance around in circles like that…basically, entertainment and sonic sculptures et al. This one’s gonna get super fun soon, so if you like to get down, don’t be a stranger.

[close to the edge bladewerks] — professional knife and tool sharpening, restoration, and sales. I like knives and I like rocks, and it turns out when you put them together it makes cooking all the more enjoyable! After doing that for a decade or more professionally, I thought I’d offer here what I believe to be truly a first-rate, world-class take on the practice. Think I’m turning Japanese… ;)

[susurrus hollows apothecary & sundry] — all things holistic and palliative; herbal and natural medicines; unguents, unctions, and embrocations; wellness and healing practices; priceless information that’s willing to cosign on behalf of the miracle of your body-temple-system. So just breathe manually for a second and slow it down…why, you’re very welcome. :)

[penumbra chronicles] — in tribute to the real vibe.

A lifeline to Susurria, extended directly into your present experience. Need that quick shot of tonal tonic? Break glass here, for when you need it the most. “Love & Rumors of Love” live streams; ASMR; rumination, both great and wee.

[straight on ‘til morning] — a collection drawn from my own travels in my tiny spaceship, Ruach (ר֥וּחַ), as well as various road/sea tales from a one-man band on the run.

[faces of susurria] — ‘tell me a story, friend’.

And without its myriad characters, what value could the story of our world even hold for us? Nay, if story be the recognized currency of Susurria, than character is surely its sire—indomitable; perhaps even at times intractable; yet wholly indespensable to us. In my travels throughout the Susurrian landscape, these are the stories of the wonderful folk I’ve had the pleasure to meet and treat with. May their spirits shine for you and illumine your own path, even as you encounter their representation herein as digital twins.

For wherever we go, so too goes the note of every heart who has ever impressed upon us its energetic quality. Therefore we are far more than our mere selves: we are all; one spirit; one river; sparkling jewels caught in Indra’s net. Interactive…interwoven…interconnected…and inseparable.

[hall of seeing & knowing] — the great library at the heart of Susurria: a place to plumb the depths of meaning, emote like it’s going outta style, and in general, discover what I’m reading/listening to/digging on these days. So many, many tales to tell…and how fortunate we, naught but the budding thaumaturgus of soul. Thank you, I believe I will.

‘Fetch…the comfy chair!’

[έρως] — this one is very, very secret; like, “secret word” level of secret. It’s so secret I may not even tell you the secret word to get in, even if you ask me very nicely! I’m afraid I’ll have to do a more-than-cursory vetting of those for whom the desire to explore becomes too great a weight to bear…those who simply must unlock the verboten and plunge headlong into the desire bubbling over the rim of the hot cauldron of their hearts. Y’all already know who who are ;)

Of course, if you speak Greek (or utilize das interwebs), you’ve probably already posited some hunch as to what’s going on behind the curtains in here. Don’t say I dinnae warn ye…

[writing on the wall] — another somewhat cloak-and-dagger affair, this time of a somewhat more political and ethically-conscious bent…and considered by various Ministries far too abstruse for the lay-clicker. In an effort to protect people from the loose cannon of their own eager judgments (and me from the splash damage), I’m quarantining this SOB until further notice.

[the range] — a place to face challenging experiences and rediscover the equanimity we never truly lost; a training ground to refocus our energies, and to realize our empathy as the greatest tool in our arsenal in the stand against energetic terrorism of all kinds. When I encounter adversity, I represent it here—to face in a controlled environment, until such time as it no longer substantiates a temptation for my ego. As such, the quality of this adversity is particularly noxious—and therefore requires authorization to access (talk to the quartermaster).

Time to lock-and-load us up some Sapphire Bullets of Pure Love (Mahavishnu Orchestra-style).

—

You know what they say—viva la process. Much love to you!—yeah you, right-here-right-now-you.

Thank you for listening. Y’all know ya love me do.

Susurria welcomes you back to her shores, traveler…be at home.

a sol rosen