A silent meditation
"Silence is the cornerstone of character." — Ohiyesa a.k.a. Charles Alexander Eastman (1858-1939)
It's dark outside — real dark.
I'm here again, early. Too early most likely, but that's the way it is.
Again, like each and every day, I'm inspired (or is it compelled?) to write.
The words appear as if like magic.
This morning, though, it's a little different: I almost don't want to say anything or the least possible.
Instead, I want to sit, breathe and listen...
I will. No, I must.
Am I struggling right now? Yes, and no.
My struggle, which is again an inner one, is premised on the idea that, through force of circumstance, I've begun to deeply question the life I've created for myself/my family.
But again, not as a prop or exhortation, but more as loving embrace, I know the best guide is silence. That doesn't mean naval gazing. No, I mean stone, cold silence.
In the past, as I went deeper into myself — my kind of spiritual self-isolation if you will — people would accuse me of being a big brooding sulk or even, and I don't know why this is the case, of being passive-aggressive. Perhaps they're right. Rather than engaging my inner demons or outer foe(s), I should just talk about it/and to them. But that's not my way. No. I'd much rather lose myself on the wild open space that is Dartmoor with no one for company than I would engage in another diatribe.
And the no part?
I'm not struggling with being at home, working on my legal work etc and using the time to establish a new, and to me, quite orthodox routine. In fact, the hardest thing will be to go back into an office.
But here I go again, using more words than I need.
Sorry, but enough said.
It's my time — high time I'd say — to say nothing, do nothing and just be with silence.