~ silence ~

The moon yesterday morning. A little play with one of my favorite textures.
Taken on December 2, 2009.

Silence in my home. Silence in the night. Silence in my heart.

I am not really in the mood for a post but sometimes I do this; I have a photo I like and it prompts me to write.

It’s been ten days since I returned from Europe and I am feeling silent. Work has me back in its grip. And in the evenings I come home to an empty apartment. Silence. Even my cat is silent because he never meows, never. My husband is kind of silent, too, nursing a grumpy mood since his return from London. After the excitement of a trip that filled my heart with travel and friendships I am feeling deflated. It’s a familiar notion. Inertia has returned. Because that’s what happens once I shut the door behind me in the evenings. I leave myself outside and my life comes to a temporary halt. The little energy that is left is consumed by snacking and TV.

What is so interesting about this state is that I feel like a spectator who is viewing myself through the window. Ever since I began learning about the Enneagram have I been looking at my behaviors with the recognition and understanding of an observer. For the first time in my life do I have such a strong sense of the threshold at which I start forgetting myself when left without the external stimulation of people and activities. And while I am very comfortable in my own company and enjoy, even crave, regular episodes of solitude, I am so easily overcome by inaction once left to my own devices. The TV, the eating, the blogging, the focus on inessential tasks, the inertia ~ the all too familiar cloak of comfort and distraction embracing a soul who is lost to herself.

There is intentional silence, too. Seven minutes of sitting still and breathing deeply, twice a day. Of course I don’t do it twice a day every day, sometimes I forget, sometime I just don’t feel like it. But I have been doing this, more or less, for a few weeks now. Which is quite an achievement for someone who has always found it difficult to ‘get into’ meditation. And really, it’s not even meditation what I am doing. My mind is way too busy for that. So I just try and focus on deep breathing and on stopping the internal chatter as best as I can. This has been less successful since my return from Europe, with the setting in of the familiar restlessness and lethargy, but I am determined to continue the practice, to be patient with it, and to give it a proper chance.

The other day I wrote to a friend: “I feel like I am at the beginning of something but have no idea what. And I fear that I will miss it if I don’t keep paying attention … ” I want to keep paying attention. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do next, or where to go from here. And so I am silent. But deep inside, there is something that is crying out. A distant voice that wants to be heard and not silenced.