“If the sight of the blue skies fills you with joy, if a blade of grass springing up in the fields has power to move you, if the simple things of nature have a message that you understand, rejoice, for your soul is alive.” — Eleonora Duse
Cometh the hour, cometh silence
Well, not really.
In fact, you’d be hard pressed to find silence.
Think about it. When was the last time you heard pure silence?
I live in Devon.
I often walk.
But even then, assuming I’m not listening to something (it slightly defeats the object of a contemplative walk but I’ve learned so much…), I don’t experience silence.
The birds; the wind; the farm animals; and there’s always some background noise from the A38 which is a busy dual carriageway nearby.
Over the Easter bank holiday, we did, as a family, minus daughter #2 who was working, go for a walk near to the river that passes through our village. Absent the slightly zen sound of the water, there did come a moment where I invited us all to stop and listen.
For a brief moment, it was deadly quiet.
And it was glorious.
Don’t ask me why, and despite my recent chagrin with myself, I know I need to go deeper into silence.
No, not that ‘lose myself, find myself’ materialistic way of seeing silence.
But. Simply. To.
perhaps it’s the same thing but i need to let go and just be completely enveloped with silence.
I don’t know yet what this means, but I’ve this impending sense of dread of our once beautiful planet and whilst silence won’t cure anything, it’s perhaps the only place where I’ll be alone with my thinking — as oddly shaped as it can sometimes be — and to understand what I’m really trying to do and say with the time I’ve left to live.