Sitting in darkness,
I feel my heartbeat
drumming life awake
with percussive reverberation
My breath,
the wind of whispers
basks in the haunted eeriness,
knowing we have morning's ear.
Nothing said,
so nothing left to say.
For sudden movements
threaten the crystalline waters
It is here,
I hear,
silence in full majesty.
Nothing said,
nothing left to say.
As the in-between time,
the passing of the guard,
where night meets morn,
where colour hides in shadows
Song is yet to take hold
Nothing said,
nothing left to say.
Hello Hedge School,
The world's scream has gotten the better of me lately. Chatter, distraction, vices, I've used them all to plug my ears. No room for a breath of my own. A second for myself. A silent space to listen with any depth at all.
I'm responsible for the scream volume. Amplified by porous boundaries, I've jumped at all the noises in the night. Reacted to every sound and movement, seemingly frightened by the silence that beckons me.
Constant gorging a space filler.
A run from stillness.
A run from emptiness.
A run from silence.
I'm not afraid of silence. Deep down I yearn for it.
The ego, however, cowers at the sound of silence.
The ego dials up the dopamine volume, yearning for a light in the darkness of solitude.
Constant stimuli, the antidote to boring.
For stillness is boring.
But not as you think. Stillness bores deep into our soul, wading past the shiny labels, worldview narratives and to-do lists to a deeper place. To a place where the words find you. A place where one can hear the language of poetry. The language of place.
"The language of poetry issues from and returns from silence. All words come from silence."
John O'Donohue - Anam Cara
Poetry is the language of the quiet place. The language of a moment. It need not be rhyming words or beautiful phrasing. It is what you hear when you still long enough to let go of all expectations. It might come to you as a lost stare to a beautiful sunrise. A smell with a fond memory. A chuckle at a funny story.
Poetry is beyond words. The memory of silence. And in a human world that is obsessed with always talking, silence is golden.
So protect the quiet space. Let it bore you. Let it bore deep into your soul.
You’ll love what you hear.
Till next time,
Steve
Credits:
Backing track - https://uppbeat.io/track/ben-mcelroy/i-think-it-is
Cover image - Photo by Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash
Share this post