Be quiet

The Unbearable Lightness of Silence Has Thankfully Become Bearable

I used to hate the quiet. Too many thoughts and too many noises in my head — trying to overtake each other — in the game of relentlessly reminding me that I can’t survive myself.

If I sit still and allow the air from the fan to blow over me as I take in the dancing blinds — seducing the dying plant in the pot — that never moves — unless I will it — perhaps I will perish alone from the sharp pain in my gut.

This stinging sensation could be from the makings of a tumor — or perhaps it’s the signal that there was too much oil in the ground beef.

When I cross my legs I feel trapped. When I’m laid out with my back against the arm of the sofa, I begin to feel the tingling of decadence. The barrage of detail that once overwhelmed — now rummages around with consideration.

My hands are free from the instrument of daily punishment. No more messages from strangers and familiar figures that each have something to share through the various outlets that permit entry — any day, any time and at any hour — rise or shine.

The power of one is giving me the ability to direct my heartbeat, and I remember the things that escaped me. They are back to reunite with the spirit that constantly shifts because of the duty of hiding away from the pricks of solitude.

This exercise was short and hard at first.

Eyes open or closed, the sensation of being rudely awakened from the pulsating impulses of being everywhere — at the same time was too much to bear. What happens to the buttons when you aren’t beating on them to be heard. What happens when nobody hears back from the replies, private notes, public acknowledgements, comments that please, remarks that displease, meeting invites, social verifications, and so on and so forth.

How can you justify moments, even minutes or possibly an hour of that deafening sound that fights against the clutter you carry throughout the cycle of societal upheaval — that arms your presence — and releases you from the guilt of escaping long enough to distrust the unbearable.

I like this. This area that’s so full that it’s empty. I’m becoming someone that I never dared to bother until now. It’s a slow and steady reunion that won’t breed much in the beginning — but as the silence becomes a viral necessity — the darkness will get even darker.

This will be a great thing. I will need to disappear to wage war against the elements of sound that are gradually becoming a force that paralyzes with the audacity of naming the victim — victorious.

My eyes were open the whole time. They say it’s easier when you can’t see, but the distraction is the art of seeing through a vision that can’t retain anything you will want to remember.

I’m ready to be uncomfortably bearable, as I carry the burden of being light enough to grow away from myself — into the realm of what you won’t see.

When you don’t see me. Yet.