In the Quiet Hours

Have you ever listened to the sound of quiet? The Quiet that never quite lives up to its name, because there are always the vague hummings and tickings that are almost not there. If you listen to the quiet it will tell you a story, but it might not be a story you’ll want to hear. In the quiet hours while most of the world is sleeping, and I’m awake, I realize how alone we all are. Some people think they connect with others, but in the quiet hours, no matter who else is there, I realize we are all trapped inside a body we can never escape from until death frees us.

Some of us love our bodies and we enshrine them in flattering raiment so as to be attractive to others, or we can attract others, or we’re just narcissistic. Of course, what narcissist would ever admit to it? It’s not flattering way to think of one’s self. They would say there’s nothing wrong with wanting to look nice. If everyone in the world were blind I wonder if they’d feel the same way?

Then there are others who are not so concerned about their bodies, we call them fat or obese or big, or ugly or unattractive. It doesn’t really matter whether we have a beautiful body or an ugly one, we’re all the same size inside. It’s impossible to tell if a person was fat or thin or beautiful or ugly by looking at their skeletons. Skeletons all look pretty much the same. And the essence, the spirit, of each one of us, is exactly the same size. and they are all trapped inside our bodies until death sets them free.

In the quiet hours I think of things like this and they seem somewhat jaded and profound, at least to me; but that may be because the quiet exaggerates things, and makes them seem more important, louder, or more fearsome than they really are. I am quiet sure, though, that each of us have a spirit, an essence inside and that they are all exactly the same size. They are the color of the wind but far more ethereal.

We can never connect with others – not really. Our essences can never touch. Maybe they can in some existential or metaphysical way, but most of us will never make that leap. There are three planes of love: Physical, Intellectual, and Spiritual. The most common form of love is physical love and most never move beyond it…it is, by far, the most sought after kind of love. It’s the kind of love everyone can see — the lovely couple holding hands, the lovers strolling the beach. But there are some rare people who experience intellectual love and some who are lucky enough to experience spiritual love. But, by far, he luckiest ones of all experience all three kinds of love with the same person. These would be the ones who come closest to connecting with someone, because their essences are as close to touching as they can ever be in this physical world. But most of us, just make do and live lives of quiet desperation. If you don’t believe that, listen to the story the quiet tells you — you make not like it very much.

Most of us, don’t like the quiet, we can’t wait to escape from it – we flip on the TV, or power-on the computer, or turn on some music — anything to kill the quiet and the story it is trying to tell us.

It is quiet here now, the hummings and the tickings faintly paint a surreal soundscape, and I’m listening to the story the quiet is telling me. I’m listening intently, because while it may not be a story I want to hear, it is one I need to hear. I need to hear it often.

In the quiet hours I see myself as i really am. But seeing ourselves as we really are, is something most of us never really want to see.