When things fall away.
Sep. 8th, 2013 08:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ofearthandstarsThere is not enough silence in the world. Maybe it's because I live with four other people, three of whom lack the maturity to consistently apply effective volume control and/or to appreciate those pauses in time where a natural silence falls.
I remember back in grade school, these occasional silent moments would fall over the classroom - a period of complete nothingness, where all tapping pencils, shuffling feet, fake coughs, and unrepressed giggles fell away. We called it the 20-second rule, because we would always look at the clock and tell each other that these moments fell right at 20 seconds after or 20 seconds till the minute. Of course, these moments happened all the time, but we were convinced that this was the way the world worked.
Now the 20-second rule has fallen away to nothingness. All public outings, from restaurants to department stores, are entrenched in the noise of people carrying through their days, and are usually overlaid with the sounds of radio, televisions, advertisements. I remember back in 2005, when I was able to attend a silent meditation retreat in Asheville, the stark transformation of the world as my car slowly climbed a twisting, one-lane mountain trail. There was never complete silence... there was the birdsong, the sound of small animals scampering through underbrush, the occasional gong, even the shuffling of limbs and the quiet movement of breath as a room full of people fell into meditation. The sound of my own pulse, steady, persistent. There, the noise of the world and its chaos fell away. The 20-second rule had come to live at the top of a mountain.
~o~
Today, I wandered outdoors, overstimulated by the ongoings in my own house, unwilling to raise my voice this time to try to overcome the din. There was the quiet brush of a breeze through the pine by our house. Birds were carrying on their secret lives. In the distance, I could hear the highway, ever present, ever buzzing with the thrum of engines. The plants on my porch fluttered in the breeze, reaching for the sun. I gave a moment to reflect on the fact that here, in this moment of solitude and silence, I was a part of everything. The sun-heated concrete burning my bare feet, I felt the hum of life.
The feeling was magnified this evening, when my husband and I walked in silence, the sky burning away from flamingo pink to deep indigo as our conversation ebbed away. The waxing crescent moon made its passage to the east, accompanied by Venus. And there we were, two humans perched on a sphere, neatly aligned for viewing two other spherical worlds. Both cloaked in mysteries, yet both touched by manmade materials. From this distance they appear flawless. We are so very big, and so very small, all at once.
Such vastness is found in moments of silence, for me. If there is ever a spiritual moment, it is out in nature, when I tune out the ups and downs of my daily life. When I befriend silence, and let the gentleness of nature - the buzzing of bees, the floating gnats, the splash of a frog in the ditch - remind me that I am just one more creature in a vast universe.
~o~
My father lost the bulk of his hearing in his mid-thirties, after years of working in the air national guard and repairing airplanes in Vietnam. My sister, who teaches art in a public school, began to do the same a few years ago. I'm sure there is a small decline in my own hearing, given my inability to unwind words spoken at certain frequencies these days - but then again, I do live with those four people. Sometimes I fear having my hearing tested, afraid it will be my time to be fitted for the hearing aid.
Before I lose it all, I want to be able to crawl away from the noise of society. I think, at times, that I should get back to meditation, to following the sound of my breath, that I should lose myself in the forest and the smell of the great green earth and the trill of squirrels. I think that would make me less afraid.
I only want to be able to hear, for a little more time, the sound of the universe. I want to feel its vibrations in my skin, to remember, with certainty, my place in the order of things.
I remember back in grade school, these occasional silent moments would fall over the classroom - a period of complete nothingness, where all tapping pencils, shuffling feet, fake coughs, and unrepressed giggles fell away. We called it the 20-second rule, because we would always look at the clock and tell each other that these moments fell right at 20 seconds after or 20 seconds till the minute. Of course, these moments happened all the time, but we were convinced that this was the way the world worked.
Now the 20-second rule has fallen away to nothingness. All public outings, from restaurants to department stores, are entrenched in the noise of people carrying through their days, and are usually overlaid with the sounds of radio, televisions, advertisements. I remember back in 2005, when I was able to attend a silent meditation retreat in Asheville, the stark transformation of the world as my car slowly climbed a twisting, one-lane mountain trail. There was never complete silence... there was the birdsong, the sound of small animals scampering through underbrush, the occasional gong, even the shuffling of limbs and the quiet movement of breath as a room full of people fell into meditation. The sound of my own pulse, steady, persistent. There, the noise of the world and its chaos fell away. The 20-second rule had come to live at the top of a mountain.
~o~
Today, I wandered outdoors, overstimulated by the ongoings in my own house, unwilling to raise my voice this time to try to overcome the din. There was the quiet brush of a breeze through the pine by our house. Birds were carrying on their secret lives. In the distance, I could hear the highway, ever present, ever buzzing with the thrum of engines. The plants on my porch fluttered in the breeze, reaching for the sun. I gave a moment to reflect on the fact that here, in this moment of solitude and silence, I was a part of everything. The sun-heated concrete burning my bare feet, I felt the hum of life.
The feeling was magnified this evening, when my husband and I walked in silence, the sky burning away from flamingo pink to deep indigo as our conversation ebbed away. The waxing crescent moon made its passage to the east, accompanied by Venus. And there we were, two humans perched on a sphere, neatly aligned for viewing two other spherical worlds. Both cloaked in mysteries, yet both touched by manmade materials. From this distance they appear flawless. We are so very big, and so very small, all at once.
Such vastness is found in moments of silence, for me. If there is ever a spiritual moment, it is out in nature, when I tune out the ups and downs of my daily life. When I befriend silence, and let the gentleness of nature - the buzzing of bees, the floating gnats, the splash of a frog in the ditch - remind me that I am just one more creature in a vast universe.
~o~
My father lost the bulk of his hearing in his mid-thirties, after years of working in the air national guard and repairing airplanes in Vietnam. My sister, who teaches art in a public school, began to do the same a few years ago. I'm sure there is a small decline in my own hearing, given my inability to unwind words spoken at certain frequencies these days - but then again, I do live with those four people. Sometimes I fear having my hearing tested, afraid it will be my time to be fitted for the hearing aid.
Before I lose it all, I want to be able to crawl away from the noise of society. I think, at times, that I should get back to meditation, to following the sound of my breath, that I should lose myself in the forest and the smell of the great green earth and the trill of squirrels. I think that would make me less afraid.
I only want to be able to hear, for a little more time, the sound of the universe. I want to feel its vibrations in my skin, to remember, with certainty, my place in the order of things.
