By Nous

                        September 02, 2003


The day has been underscored by silence, but the silence which descends
suddenly and without warning. There is a silence that is felt before it
falls.  But there I sat for hours before I left my room and walked into
it, at first not feeling it.  Then walking through it, still blind to
its presence.  Then, moments later, with a loaf of sweet bread halfway
to my mouth, the other hand clasping a moist glass of milk, I was
completely absorbed in the silence.  And I knew it, as I have always
known it.
The day slapped me in the face with my own silence and with the silence
of the world around me.  It is very possible to know nothing, and then
to suddenly understand what has been missing in life.  The feeling then
was similar.
I was sixty-six years old, felt older, and would never be happy. And so
I had a sudden desire to go out and get married, have children and live
the life of one who chooses to ignore the real wants in life.
I want love, but I want to never have to love.  There is no end to this
trail, the irony, the ridiculous desire.  The neverending humor.  I'll
never stop laughing.
And so the children grow up.  Dissatisfied.
Uncandled.
The day is underscored in soundless movement.  Wild shakes and schisms.
Soundless eruptions, meaning nothing.  Because there is no difference
between moving and sitting still.  I liken that state of our being to
sleepwalking.  To what do the movements of a sleepwalker amount?
So why do we notice the silence of life and throw a party?  Why do we
feel the silence and fill it with words?  Why do we cover the soundless
country of ourselves with movement?  Because we are afraid of it, and
always have been.
The greatest lie that we are taught is that we are what we seem to be.
The greatest lie we teach ourselves is that if we move, we will arrive
somewhere, the vague, distant Somewhere, and so we live the lives of
sleepwalkers.  Dissatisfied.
Uncandled.
Unchanging.
So is the ultimate question, "What do I really mean to say?", or "What
happens when we listen to the silence?"