The Silence

Silence is a palpable thing for me.

I write to you in silence now - not just the silence of a lack of noise with everyone gone, but the silence of a house with limited activity.  The two are completely different - the first indicates merely a lack of vocal activity, the second a peace that infuses the atmosphere.

There are no electronics on right now except for mine, no light except the one that I write on.  I can hear the chirping of crickets outside and the hum of  something electric inside, with the occasional sound of traffic flowing by. The only sound beyond that here is the click-clack of my keyboard and the swoosh that my feet make when I move them on the carpet.

Were I in other rooms, I could tell you the sounds I would hear if I were there:  the quiet crunch crunch of the rabbits eating their hay or pellets, or the louder crack of the guinea pig eating his guinea pig chow (guinea pigs are louder than rabbit.  I never thought about that before).  In another room, the occasional rustle of the parakeet as she resettles on the perch or moves; from the garage, the occasional cry of the male quail, confused by the light from outside, thinking it morning at 11 PM.  Beyond that, perhaps the hum of the refrigerator.

And nothing else.

This is a version of true silence, the silence I hear differently at The Ranch when I walk and only the wind blows throw the trees.  I can hear things there I cannot hear anywhere else; perhaps the same is true on a lesser scale here in the midst of urbandom.

It is this silence, this peace, that I treasure more than anything else.  This is rest and refuge to me; this is the thing I desire so much.  In this peace I can do many things and still be at peace:  practice cuts, pull weights, write, garden, read, pluck strings, think thoughts.

At this silence is my core - the inexpressible part of me that flows out through activities, that thrives (ironically enough) within the lack of activity and sound around it.

The burdensome question:  how do I take this silence with me wherever I go so that I can do out there what I can do in here?