“One learns that the world, though made, is yet being made; that this is still the morning of creation; that mountains long conceived are now being born. . . to be followed by still others in endless rhythm and beauty” John Muir
A night from the summer I spent in northern Wisconsin will always stay etched in my mind. I took a walk one evening, through the forest and tall unkept grass and stopped beside a lake. I sat on a small wooden dock on the waters edge, and watched the moonrise. Everything was still: the crisp air on my face, the lake, like glass, mirroring the tall trees and moonlight. The colors were soft, blending together into the oneness of night.
The calm quiet of the lake brought stillness to my heart and mind. I’ve always identified with the constant movement and rhythm of flowing water, with its contrast of consistency and ever-changing dimension. This was a peace that starkly contrasted with the inner noise and movement of my soul. The beauty of this quiet stillness touched me deeply.
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We live in a loud world. Addicted to noise, voices everywhere tell us everything and nothing. Messages are thrown at us at an alarming rate, and because there are platforms for individual expression and interaction, we engage in this constant sea of sound.
I feel the effects of this conditioning within my mind. I have a maniac in my head: a voice that never stops talking. It narrates my day and keeps me constantly engaged in thought. It urges me on toward my goals, and nags me with failure. It wonders and wanders, making connections and to-do lists and distracting me so completely that I can’t even see what it is that my open eyes are looking at.
Am I missing what it is to be truly alive by allowing this inner chatter to carry me away down a river of passive attention? Have I given so much weight to my thoughts, to the all-important rational mind, that I’m ignoring other layers of myself? What is this voice? Is it me? Or am I simply the one who hears it?
When I stop and actively draw my attention into the present moment, the sensations are overwhelming. The world starts going in slow motion as I escape from the smallness of my head and experience reality through all of me. I see the miracle of life before me, the movement of my fingers along the keyboard, the soft morning light reflecting on my son’s face. I feel the air as I breathe it in and smell the deep notes of coffee lingering. I hear the sweet sounds of play from the other room and the soft baby coos beside me.
My mind is still, yet full.
Maybe we’ve got this all wrong. Maybe we should place more value on what it is that we say and think rather than how much we can say and what we must do to ensure that we are heard. Maybe our constant noise distracts us from our voice. Maybe if we were all just quiet, and took the time to simply be together, a real conversation could grow.
The beauty of being alive is that we are ever becoming. Our words have power and meaning, as individuals and as a society. Our thoughts think us. What is the world that we give voice to?
roselyon 