I woke this morning with a phrase on my lips. Not my typical fading remnants of an elaborate dream, not a person's face, not even a proper sentence. Just a single phrase.
"Fill the silence"
These three words filled my mind, repeating over and over, insisting. Not only is this in-and-of-itself strange, but even more so considering that I have spent the last year trying to learn to relax, slow down, and accept the silence. My life is no longer a chaotic tangle of friends, drama, etc. and that's ok.
Apparently now i'm not supposed to be ok with silence -- i'm supposed to 'fill' it.
With what? My voice, written words (yea blog!), photography? Let's find out.
12 October 2011
03 October 2011
Clarity
Today I rested -- stretching out in a square of sunlight that filtered through the palm trees and gently filled the front of my porch. I tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling deeply, on freeing my mind.
A neighbor walked by on his way from the ocean and stopped to observe me. Every few seconds, he took a tentative step in my direction -- as if allowing me to gradually realize his presence without being startled.
"What are you listening for?" he asked.
"My breath" I answered amist an exhale.
He paused a moment and I thought the conversation over. "No, not what are you listening to. What are you listening for?"
Puzzled but unwilling to relinquish my posture I finally said "Clarity."
"Huh," he responded, unimpressed with my feigned search, "I had hoped for something more tangible."
He walked away and left me curious and very un-clear. If I could find it -- even be able to know it intimately and call upon it at will -- what could be more tangible than clarity?
A neighbor walked by on his way from the ocean and stopped to observe me. Every few seconds, he took a tentative step in my direction -- as if allowing me to gradually realize his presence without being startled.
"What are you listening for?" he asked.
"My breath" I answered amist an exhale.
He paused a moment and I thought the conversation over. "No, not what are you listening to. What are you listening for?"
Puzzled but unwilling to relinquish my posture I finally said "Clarity."
"Huh," he responded, unimpressed with my feigned search, "I had hoped for something more tangible."
He walked away and left me curious and very un-clear. If I could find it -- even be able to know it intimately and call upon it at will -- what could be more tangible than clarity?
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