As I sit here, I can hear the tick tock of my clock. And it occurred to me how rare it is to be able to hear that sound. Between the street noise, dogs barking, music playing – whether loudly or a quiet melody in the background, the tv and even the hum of my computer it is rare that there is enough silence to sit and be still and to hear. Even in Yoga it isn’t that quiet. How much of my life is filled with noise. So much so that I cannot even feel my heart beat.
But then I realize that the noise is a comfort. Like food for most, noise for me is like an old blanket – it makes me feel safe. When it is quiet it is then that I can feel my breath, I can see the silence that surrounds me and the fears and doubts I have creep in ever so silent until they are upon me – like being afraid of the dark. It is there. There isn’t really anything to be afraid of and yet the fear of it grows ever stronger until it is nearly unbearable. When we are kids we can call out and a parent will come running (or in my case I often had to get out of bed or deal with it. Or if you are my baby brother, you come running to me). What is it about another body, another person that gives us comfort and safety? Did we think as children that our parents had the ability to fight off the monsters that only came out at night? I am sure that we did, they were our hero’s, they could do anything and weren’t afraid of anything. So who do we run to or call out to as adults when the “dark” creeps in and we can hardly bear it?
I crave silence and yet I hate it at the same time. It is in the silence that I am confronted with my hopes, my fears, my dreams, my failures, my desires and in the silence they all converge on me at once and I am overwhelmed by it all. The past few weeks have been a difficult bunch in a way I have not experienced before. I am fighting everyday to breathe. Everyday is a battle to be strong. To hold on to the truth’s I know in my heart. To not waiver, to not back down and not succumb to the things in this life that eat at me everyday.
Even now as I am writing I could not bear the silence and so I turned on some music to fill the white space that surrounds me. And the words are strong and powerful. They are words of truth and hope and comfort. A few weeks back I spoke about rejection and about being prefectly imperfect: the things I say and write about I believe, but so often it is so that I can remind myself of the truth and of the falseness in life.