Solitude versus Silence

The Garden of My Silence I carry with me always, as a vessel of water, undisturbed, and resonating with all darkness. 

Sick as I am, I spend my day in recovery turning inward. What I find the energy to do is what I bodily discern nourishes me. Lying in bed, clearing the clutter of books off my shelves so that I can see just an open space - beautiful. Walking gently into the light, and then back to my room again. I practice flow arts: spin stick, and the night before do performance parking as a mime while I still had to work. at the festival; then find myself blogging– the observation and reflection on my surroundings and on being so soothing. All next day I read fairytales; practice Chi Gung – silence, flow, and ancient fantasy stories are my friends. I cry reading The Little Prince. When I wake I am utterly devoid of the need for the girlfriend I said goodbye to weeks ago. I am happy to be underneath this layer of drama. 

Reflecting now on these changes, I wonder how I could have forgotten to be silent – not only be able to be in solitude, but to be silent. 

For solitude and silence are distinct things. 

I believed I had mastered them both by simply being able to be alone, and content. 

But always active, always working on some golden project in my solitude, is not the same as taking the nourishment that comes from the gentle, silent things. 

And to be in silence around people, as well – this too I had forgotten. Always active, always giving of my attention, presence, and life – giving too much –

Forgetting that silence, and the space it affords, both in solitude and around other people, is healing.

The Garden of my Silence I carry with me always as a vessel of water, undisturbed, and resonating with all darkness.