It won't be long now until we roar back into life.
We need to; we have to; we have no choice.
I'm not so sure but anyway, that's not the point of this post.
I know, more than anything else, the thing that I'll miss in having to rejoin my old life is being .
And I don't just mean the non-speaking part; I mean being quiet in my actions, my speech and even, dare I say, my life essence.
Even now, sitting here at my wee desk, I feel it. The essence of a quiet life: nothing to do, nowhere to go and no one per se that I need speak to. Perhaps that's why I've opined upon my predilection towards living in hermitage.
It shouldn't be, but I'm sure it will be, super hard to hold this line but I do wonder how I can bring more of this quietness into my old life. Don't worry, for now, that's for me to sit with and not to eke out a few more words to explain my current thinking. All I'll say is that the more I'm subsumed by the old way, the less I'll be at home — all body, mind and spirit.
What about you?
Is being quiet something you've enjoyed or are you looking forward to getting back to something resembling normal in the next few (I hesitate to say this) months? I'd love to know.
Anyhow, I want to keep this post short and leave you to enjoy the rest of your Saturday. I will though leave you with the poem below by Jeffrey McDaniel.
BY JEFFREY MCDANIEL
In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.