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The Sound of Silence

I’ve long been sensitive to noise.  Some people could live near a freeway.  Me?  Never.  My ear plugs are one of my most precious possessions.  I’ve got a special pair I’ve coveted for more than a decade.  Going into the desert, where the smallest sounds can carry amazing distances, where hearing becomes really acute, is a fascination and a delight.  The quiet becomes deafening there.  It feels like a pressure valve has been released.  I like the sensation of being in a sound booth that’s especially designed to absorb everything.  There’s no return path to my ears for anything spoken.

But none of these is the silence I now experience.  It is not the absence of sound, as wonderful as that is (to me).  The silence I’m experiencing is an infinite container.  It holds both sound and no sound with equal grace.  If you took away the sound, and took away the sound of no sound, both of those are held in silence.  This silence expands.  It is also completely still.  It pulses and flows with love.  It accepts and caresses.  Everything exudes this silence.  It’s right there in the middle of a traffic jam, or a rock concert, or an open field.  Slums and mansions, muck and polished jewels, all are bathed, carried, in this silence.  Atoms, molecules, stars, planets, ocean, sky, and life all arise directly from it.  It has no history.  It has no opinion, no position, and no direction.  It didn’t begin.  It does not continue.  It does not have an end.  This silence is the sound of this exact moment.    Yes.    This.    One.