When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
John Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn
A year ago I learned that I am affected by aphantasia. Sounds like a vanished Russian princess, right? It means I cannot form mental pictures. There aren’t many of us, but I’m not merely singular. Apparently, I’m part of 2-5% of all of us.
Though I didn’t have the word, I already had the experience. Back in the 60s, when I started learning about meditation, our yogi would say, in a sort of decaf way, “Close your eyes and picture a beautiful stream running through swaying willow trees glowing in the dappled sunlight.”
I tried, I mean hard, sort of anti-meditation. Nothing. I do not have the wiring to ‘picture this’. It’s not a disease or a malady, just a thing like handedness. So I meditate through my tactile sense rather than my visual sense.
What recently came to my attention, perhaps to replace this visual incapacity, is that I travel in a constant state of cadence. The trees. The clouds. The water. The ground. My neighbor walking her dog. (That, btw is the cadence of the Monty Python theme song) Everything contributes to my companion rhythm section. It’s like the scene in the movie where suddenly the people look frightened when they realize there are drums beating faintly in the distance. But mine are friendly drums.
We used to go downtown to Philly when I was in high school to dance on live TV – Jerry Blavat (the geater with the heater, the boss with the sauce). I love to dance, and I did not realize how much I walk to cadence, like I sing when I talk because I also have a stutter. Can’t stutter when we sing, so I’m singing to you now, just from a narrow range of notes.
So here’s the cadence update for me: I like to listen to classical music first thing in the day as I brew coffee and start the dog-cats service. One day I found myself dancing. The New York City Ballet has yet to call, yet the music/dance/bare-feet-on-tile settles and focuses me better than the willow trees by the beautiful stream could ever. Wrapped up in cadence, I am unworried by the coming day.
And here’s the loving kicker for my work: When I read, I register cadence. My favorite writers don’t just write, they orchestrate. As well, I write toward the sound. My final edit is always reading aloud. My understanding grows at least as much from the tone and cadence as from the words.
We have known for decades expression has greater impact than the actual words spoken. Expression is traditionally body language and tone. In virtual conversations, since we are seeing videos, not actual presence, tone and cadence are the primary determiners of impact. Never more so than now, when we’re miles, even thousands of miles, apart. If you want people to remember, use those two—tone and cadence consciously and with intent. Even a slight change in cadence will make your message stick. Feel that? Train for tone, and train for cadence, notice melody and beat. Get it?
‘Read it aloud’ is my mantra. Let the cadence be the registry. So I’ll be recording my posts as often as possible. If you receive a written post, please read it aloud. A big bonus is that if you do this on a commuter train, after the next stop you’ll have the car to yourself. Heaven.
Relax, and let the beats and the words collect you: Cadence is meaning, meaning cadence. Disjointed, harsh, pejorative cadence carries as much toxin as the words. Bless conversation with the cadence of grace. Think with the cadence of grace. We need not agree so long as we engage in symphony — “sounding together.”
The cadence of our words.
The cadence of our connection.
The cadence of our life.
