When do words fail me? When does the macro of my mind refuse to come forth, or worse still, cease to exist? I am, therefore I am not; I am not many things, but what exactly am I and who or what will I be but dust? Will water soothe and wash troubled souls?
Yes, I say. It does soothe. Stand in a hot shower on a cold winter’s night and you’ll see how much it soothes even unto bone. But does it still the mind?
Not often. That betrayer of wisdom ever gabbles on with useless prattle. Breathe in deep, breathe in peace, breathe in silence as it were a sweet perfume born on the breeze. Wear silence like a mantle that it may cloak all noise, even the roar of truck and the hum of train waiting on distant rails to pass over the bridge. It hoots, at last, and hopefully will leave, now that it has set my ears to ringing. Calm. Think not of noise but breathe in silence and let it bring peace to strife. It is not the external that truly troubles me but internal habits of thought. Breathe in silence and breathe out ill-invited habits, cravings, and strife. The train, itself, as it roars past, troubles me not. Only it’s waiting upon the tracks.
The train passing reminds me of other times, of night horizons, distant city lights that seemed like a ship on an ocean of dark and ever as mysterious. A child’s memory, belonging to an almost forgotten era, and still retaining a child’s sense of wonder and magic. Oh, that I could bring that sentiment to bear on the present; that I could face each day anew in such a way. [inspired by A Midsummer Tempest by Poul Anderson]