There’s Something to Behold in Silence

That sounds like a hackneyed line, but I Googled it and I assure you, it came straight from my own horse mouth.

All it takes is the first few lines of a book, a movie, a play.  The first few seconds before your brain forms a pattern/opinion of what you’re viewing.

There’s a glimmer of something that you lost, something that a good book can bring back to you.  It has everything to do with having a mind quiet enough to listen.

Something touched you and with that touch, you remember who you are.  Everything seems clear.

Without art, we lose ourselves.  We forget everything.  And with art, we lose ourselves, we forget everything – but in a good way.  A progressive way.

The only way to view art is through silence.  A cold wintery silence, breathing in arctic air that freezes your lungs until you cough up all your accumulated filth.

I lost something over the years.  It snowballed as time went by.  Constant work, incessant worry, doing a job I hate over and over and over again.  I was consumed by it.  It taken up every inch of me.

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Being an employee, working for someone else, is a different kind of stress.  Having set hours and going home, enjoying time off is all you need to sustain that “you” feeling.  But when you’re consumed, nothing of you is left.

When was the last time you felt truly free?

I thought about this and it had to be before I went into kindergarten, before having to do something mandatory.  I was 3 years old when I last tasted freedom.  But at 3 years old, you have to obey your parents, you can’t eat whatever you want, you don’t have a car or any money so you’re really not free at all.   But on the other hand, you don’t know what you’re missing so in a way, you are free.  Naivety brings you false freedom.

I feel like all of us have this naive false freedom because we never experienced the real thing.  We’re all 3-year-olds working to acquire new toys, building our ego’s with legos and our legacy’s with poopy diapers in a landfill.  Shit that doesn’t go away.

When you’re broke, in-between jobs, consumed by stress – You’re not free.  Your worry owns you, debt owns you, your future owns you.  You smoke pot to mellow out so people think you’re a chill enlightened hippie who doesn’t care about money or status.  But you do care, everyone cares.  Unless addiction is the crutch that consumes you.  And false freedom is the torch that guides you.

Addiction and false freedom is like getting buried in dirt.  Having it shoveled on you.

When you land your dream job, marry the love of your life, have all the money you’ll ever need, are you free then?

No.  People are never satisfied.  Never.  People live a really long time now and things have the tendency of falling apart in the span of a really long time.

I’m working on my goal of absolute freedom – as close as I can get to it anyway.  I’m only months away from it now.  Four months to be precise, but it’s more like 2.

What kind of person will I unearth?

Having no responsibility, what will shape me?  What will direct my next move when I already have everything?

That glimmer of silence found in those first few lines of narrative, before your brain scuffs it up with patterns and opinions.  Before we can build it up or break it down,  I want to live in that silence.  While the world is a whirlwind before my eyes.

 

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Filed under journal, Writing

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