Quiet bugs me.
Quiet feels like nothing happening, nothing changing. Quiet feels like nothingness, like I don't exist or that I'm waiting to exist again.
Quiet tells the truth and makes me wallow in it. Which terrifies me.
I loved quiet once, embraced it with an adoration usually saved for shoes and chocolate.
Quiet now means lacking, means my gizmos are not working; people aren't tweeting or updating something.
Quiet differs from silence. Silence can mean that something just did happen, and whatever it is requires a moment to recover, to emphasize the loud, the energy. Silence is temporary, but quiet stretches out, taking up space and time, filling it with... nothing.
Quiet requires sacrifice, a horrible word. Sacrifice is a process done in quiet, resulting in eternal echoes. Sacrifice means that there was something present that is not now, and that I chose to surrender it. If it's quiet, then space was created with things and sounds and distractions removed. It means that the need for quiet, to face truth has overwhelmed everything else, and driven me to a solemn, desert-like place.
Quiet sacrifice means that something gnawed at me until I couldn't ignore it.
Quiet means sacrificing what distracts and numbs me to find what gives me life. Quiet means the busy-ness of life must be surrendered.
Surrender is another unpopular word right now. Society screams, shines the idea that there's no reason for surrender. You're beautiful. Everyone is beautiful. You deserve everything you want.
If a product doesn't give you everything want in it, replace it. You deserve better.
If a lover doesn't give you everything you want, replace him. Or her. Or them. You deserve to be happy. So do they. You're really doing the best thing because everyone deserves to be happy. All the time.
But between that message and the next; at the period of the sentence is quiet.
Quiet softly states that life is hard. People disappoint. Not everything is beautiful or fixable or meant to be.
Quiet defines and removes. Quiet, like winter, comes at its own time and leaves the same way.
And in quiet, sacrifice looks different. Sacrifice offers no resolution, but instead requires time and effort. But even in the offering, sacrifice provides a different path, and quietly remakes the offerer.
Solemn, quiet sacrifice embodies and infuses the in-between of winter and spring. Sacrificing snow to rainy, dreamy days of hushed gray sky, quiet prepares the way for growth and green. Fields of wildflowers. Eggs and chocolate and Easter.
Hope.
That thing with feathers of the soul doesn't live in prettily packaged containers, doesn't survive on perpetual pleasure. It's not featured on sale, or spotted in the place to be seen.
Hope rests in the quiet places of the soul, where sacrifice has cleared out the unneeded and prepared space for the Divine.
Quiet.
Prepare.
Sacrifice.
Always, always.
Hope.
Quiet feels like nothing happening, nothing changing. Quiet feels like nothingness, like I don't exist or that I'm waiting to exist again.
Quiet tells the truth and makes me wallow in it. Which terrifies me.
I loved quiet once, embraced it with an adoration usually saved for shoes and chocolate.
Quiet now means lacking, means my gizmos are not working; people aren't tweeting or updating something.
Quiet differs from silence. Silence can mean that something just did happen, and whatever it is requires a moment to recover, to emphasize the loud, the energy. Silence is temporary, but quiet stretches out, taking up space and time, filling it with... nothing.
Quiet requires sacrifice, a horrible word. Sacrifice is a process done in quiet, resulting in eternal echoes. Sacrifice means that there was something present that is not now, and that I chose to surrender it. If it's quiet, then space was created with things and sounds and distractions removed. It means that the need for quiet, to face truth has overwhelmed everything else, and driven me to a solemn, desert-like place.
Quiet sacrifice means that something gnawed at me until I couldn't ignore it.
Quiet means sacrificing what distracts and numbs me to find what gives me life. Quiet means the busy-ness of life must be surrendered.
Surrender is another unpopular word right now. Society screams, shines the idea that there's no reason for surrender. You're beautiful. Everyone is beautiful. You deserve everything you want.
If a product doesn't give you everything want in it, replace it. You deserve better.
If a lover doesn't give you everything you want, replace him. Or her. Or them. You deserve to be happy. So do they. You're really doing the best thing because everyone deserves to be happy. All the time.
But between that message and the next; at the period of the sentence is quiet.
Quiet softly states that life is hard. People disappoint. Not everything is beautiful or fixable or meant to be.
Quiet defines and removes. Quiet, like winter, comes at its own time and leaves the same way.
And in quiet, sacrifice looks different. Sacrifice offers no resolution, but instead requires time and effort. But even in the offering, sacrifice provides a different path, and quietly remakes the offerer.
Solemn, quiet sacrifice embodies and infuses the in-between of winter and spring. Sacrificing snow to rainy, dreamy days of hushed gray sky, quiet prepares the way for growth and green. Fields of wildflowers. Eggs and chocolate and Easter.
Hope.
That thing with feathers of the soul doesn't live in prettily packaged containers, doesn't survive on perpetual pleasure. It's not featured on sale, or spotted in the place to be seen.
Hope rests in the quiet places of the soul, where sacrifice has cleared out the unneeded and prepared space for the Divine.
Quiet.
Prepare.
Sacrifice.
Always, always.
Hope.
This is one the posts that caused me to not look at the writing, but the meaning behind the writing. This post touched me and made me think and helped me understand why we all need quiet. This is especially touching to me this weekend, since that is what this weekend is for me. I could say that it is quiet around the house when I am the only one there or the only one wake, but there is so much more to quiet than being the only person in the room. Beautifully said.
ReplyDeleteI don't know why I avoid that time of quiet that is total stillness. I think maybe because I tend to fall asleep or am looking for something profound and find nothing. I don't like nothing. I do however like your writing so, more please!
ReplyDelete