The Midnight Sun
The Good Life
Take me. I'm yours.
The Way Home
We Take Care of Our Own
The Holy Days
Fall On Me
Bringing It All Back Home
Learn to Be Still
Love the One You're With
|Whatever it is that is calling me into silence, I hear it loud and clear.|
I crave silence. In north Jersey, the sounds of lawn mowers go off before my alarm, well meaning home owners trying to get a jump on the summer sun. Hedge trimmers buzz as landscape trucks run, workers strap on large air blowers that send grass clippings into the air like money in one of those game show cylinders. Television runs the show at night. It's ten o'clock. Do you know where your silence is?
Here in south Jersey, the street outside is a main thoroughfare with rumbling cars telling of adolescent drivers finding identity in speed and mufflers. Behind me, a jungle, or so it seems, with a sound like a frog either in heat or dying. Hard to tell. And then, the birds, so loud I thought they were in the house. I hear they chirp loudest right before dawn.
All of this the cacophony of life, beautiful and perfect. Still though, I long for silence. I realize that in Anchorage, it's quiet. My block, my home, my neighbors, quiet. Then I remember the float planes that fly directly overhead as they make their way to Lake Hood each summer and I realize it's not that quiet. Must be a noise I've grown accustomed to all these years.
Maybe the silence I long for these days is really an inner silence. My mind has been working overtime with its meanderings and ramblings. Inside the ninth month of my gypsy travels, this sabbatical has tapped into the next layer of fear and mystery. I've been thinking it's my outside world that won't shut up but maybe it's my inside world. Maybe I'm needing to be silent. I thought of that today, this idea of thinking less, talking less, so as to be quiet, that inner quiet, so I can hear the other voice that speaks.
Whatever it is that is calling me into silence, I hear it loud and clear. The sounds of silence.