Few times in my life do I find myself in a place of total and utter silence. Even now I am somewhat disingenuous, as I write this I can hear each word being read out in my mind. These words are each read in my ideal voice even, not that voice I hear in recordings but the one I hear when I speak.
Everyone in the office where I work has gone out for lunch. My wife left with “The Ladies”, the other men all left in their respective Cliques. I may have damned myself as I noticed the last man remaining hinted towards taking me out with him, I had however already toasted some sandwiches.
They are honestly tasty sandwiches. So perhaps that was not a loss. But the discussions of my dietary habits are not what interest me at this moment (it was Whole Wheat if you were curious).
I can really think at the moment. I can hear the stories I’ve wanted to write unraveling in my mind, this silence almost euphoric to the cerebellum. Even at home I find myself amidst an endless parade of noises, computer fans, beeps, creeks, wind, planes, and various automatic washing devices. But here the only PC’s on are dead silent, their fans running low for no device within them generates heat (IE. These PC’s are weaker than any metaphor I can muster).
It makes me wonder how much we miss because of all the noise. How many wonderful thoughts die beneath the waves of endless sensory molestation. How much of our lives is lost amidst an endless repeating of impulses that we rarely even recognize. Commercials, television, the internet, the highway, all these places where we are forced to constantly absorb information. The time given to process it has become increasingly foreshortened and I think the repercussions are obvious at times…or perhaps their obviousness is just another illusion.
I think I might try to get some quiet time for myself more often. A time to reflect on my thoughts, perhaps bring little more than a pencil and some paper. Something nice and quiet. See if I can slow the ticking of the clock and maybe enjoy those long days I had as a child.
I have a theory of sorts about time. As children we fantasize about being adults and we continually try to race towards the future. We overcompensate and days that used to feel like weeks end up feeling like hours or even minutes. As we reach the middle of our life we find ourselves hurtling onwards towards death, we then begin to try and slow life down. Just as we did in our childhood we overcompensate and find ourselves living within eternal days. Hours feel like months and we move ever slower. Inevitably we die, but those moments before death are slow…endlessly slow.
I imagine then you hear the mightiest of silences and perhaps, though I’m doubtful, that’s when the true introspection can begin. At the very least until your brain shuts down entirely.
The tea is warm, a little bit bitter, but overall not bad. It is topped with a unique Brazilian Honey that tastes…a bit flowery.