Listen

Out of the last 42 hours, Besides work today, I've spent eight hours in an emergency room with the almost ex-husband for his sprained back, two hours in court, two hours on the telephone with my mortgage servicing company who can't seem to find the payment that was wired and confirmed, five hours cleaning and roughly six hours asleep. Surprisingly I'm neither in a bad mood nor resembling an extra from a George Romero movie.

I just don't want to do much of anything. After reading some truly wonderful blogs and part of The Night of the Iguana (In honor of Tennessee Williams' birthday. Trivia note -- Williams wrote the play with Katherine Hepburn in mind for the character of Hannah.), I'd really like to write something serious, meaningful and eloquent, but I just don't have it in me tonight. If I had more discipline, I'd stretch those mental muscles and at least attempt something of substance.

That's not going to happen. It's a still, humid, amazingly quiet night. My windows are open, and I can hear the trucks rumbling down the four lane that bisects my little town, but the usual spring chorus of tree frogs and crickets is missing. Across the street, in the field behind the elementary school, they've been clearing trees to expand the crop land. Huge old trees, the type that would take several people holding hands to circle are lying on their sides now, roots exposed, their limbs still covered in fresh green. The bulldozers must have chased my spring music away, and my tinnitus is a poor substitute.

I think I need the silence. I feel it leaching the whirlwind of associative thoughts from my mind, leaving a pleasant, peaceful empty space. I know something will fill it. I hope it's not more clutter. I'd love for it be a bit of inspiration that makes me hunger to write, instead of just making myself write to keep the chops intact. I'd welcome even more an understanding that could fan the embers of my currently waning spiritual life. I need a silence to hear those quiet voices I miss. I want to soak in silence like a Jacuzzi and let it leave me pliable. I want it to float on it like a slow flowing river. I want it to carry me home to the better me I seem to have hidden among tasks, challenges and responsibilities.

I want to dip a small bottle into this silence and fill it to have with me always, a tangible reminder of a still moment of grace.

silence