Silence in Prose

He was friends with silence. He understood its glory, like a lullaby, what silence could be. He closed his eyes and breathed silence, the passing quiet of an undisturbed ocean. It seemed impossible sometimes, that so much could fill silence, but silence did not seem like empty space. It could move and change and turn in any direction, lighting the way. Sounds could fill his head, he supposed, if he wanted them to. He could imagine sounds. Scratches from a pen, maybe, or the wind rattling the window, imagined instruments, distant traffic, but even then, silence lived. Silence breathed.

You know only this, he thought. Only this between sounds, between and over and above, and below melody. To the side here. There is silence there. Even the wind makes silence absolute. Birds make silence when they sing. Everyone stops to listen, and that is silence. Church bells, too, along and between rivers and streams, across the town, know nothing but silence.

Sometimes, it just worked that way, and there was nothing but that without trying to make anything, because everything already was. A single moment lapses into eternity. It stretches from the base of one kingdom to another.

Live in every moment. Learn to watch each person breathe. Carry a storm upon your back. Stretch a cloud here and there. Watch a comet fly. Rain. Pour. Cleanse my soul. Make a giant walk the earth. Pass back and forth and into silken sand. Make a holiday out of me. Torture me with your warm embrace. Smother me. Let me get you something to stir your blood. Let us toast this radiance!

I connect and reconnect. I race around the globe a million times or more, never seeing the same thing twice. I like to see if I recognize my footprints anywhere. But so far, no. For once, my heart actually belongs to me. My thoughts are my own. There is no torture, no memory of ridicule. It fades into the background music and turns into silence. A jewel lights my way along the shadows. I turn it into thoughts of Spring. I close my thoughts and run around and play like I did when I was three. I catch a hummingbird by its wing.

A thousand drums take to the sky, echoing a beat across the galaxy. I stop for a while to listen, and then the rocket-ships, too, take flight. I see those rocket-powered jet-packs, lear-jets, space shuttles. Meteor showers, setting suns, like a time lapse, move forwards and backwards any way you want. I hear the heavy steel guitars of loud rock-and-roll music. Wind to blow our troubles away, uplift a skyscraper, push the moon a meter or two so it’s a pendulum swing. Chaos is only a challenge, a barely perceptible beat upon my breast, someone tapping annoyingly to get my attention.

Through it all, a smile spreads from one end of the gloomy day to another. Stillness makes its presence felt, and says loud enough for everyone to hear: “Nothing can faze me.”

Unbroken Blue

He walks upright and stands alone, surveying the hills around from all sides, towns and villages, valleys, country sides, mountain peaks, lakes, rivers, and streams. Ocean views, panoramas of a million sunsets, tropical islands, palm trees, stretches of flawless, golden sand take up his view from every side. There are endless miles of wind-swept sand and desert hills. Thick, dark forests, jungles, fields, meadows—sea, air, and sky stretch on and on until he can see no more. But he can see. He can see everything. There is no limit to his vision. His vision penetrates. It goes into the trees, into the leaves, into the sunlight, the moonbeams. It passes down and through frozen, suffocating, deep black oceans. Structures as well he can see, man made skylines, cityscapes at night, neon lights, noises, people, traffic, resounding, reverberating in waves rising and falling through it all. All things are visible—tall buildings, skyscrapers, pyramids, landmarks, stop signs, barbed-wire, winding, snaky stretches of road, highways, parking lots, traffic meters, bus stops, walkways, and grocery stores.

He stands, and at all points—all junctures and angles—blinding, incandescent light streams through him. Every cell and molecule is illuminated, bursts forth with radiant, warm energy, pillars of white. Spectrums shoot off into every direction imaginable. There is nothing untouched, no shadow. He can see the night and the day at the same time. Dawn and dusk enter his view. Incandescence is infinite.

He holds his hands out on either side of him, and to him, it seems as though he is standing on empty air, in the vast, great center of the universe. He is on the highest mountain peak. He is everything, and everything is around him. There is no stone unturned, no shadow unpenetrated. Water moves through him, lakes, rivers, ocean sand and shore. Waves break and crash under his skin. Stars emanate underneath and on top of him. He is the mirror of a riverbed. He is glass, transparent. The wind, too, is here, hurricanes, typhoons, earthquakes, tornadoes, erupting volcanoes, tidal waves, cyclones. Thunder booms. Lightning rips across the sky. Rain and snow cloud the air. He is ice and fire. The smell of autumn leaves, woodsmoke, marshmallows, cocoa, peppermint, coffee, tea, baked bread, pies, succulent, mouth-watering dinners warm his senses. He is all the changing seasons. The air turns robust, vibrant green, moist, warm again, bright, blue, unbroken. Spring and summer flowers emerge, rosebuds and new leaves. The trill of birds fill the air, bees, and dragonflies. It moves through him, is him, and he creates it, lets it go, surrenders to it at lightning speed. He is the melting snow, the drying rain, the rain again, the wind-swept pile of leaves that gather in corners. He tilts his head upwards, letting the stars, the light of the moon move through him. He sheds tears. These are tears of joy, richness and emptiness because he knows how full and devoid everything is at the same time. His emotions, his heart is tender, easily flexible, pliant, and he opens it wider, further, making the gap impossible to bridge because he is unafraid. This is nothing short of bravery. This is boldness absolute. Every emotion gushes through him, makes an overwhelming, dominating rushing sound. It is the whine, the shrill of a jet engine, only louder. It is a rainbow. It is fissures exploding, supernovas, and the sun detonating to and out of life. It is the gentle, steady rhythm of waves breaking on the shore. It is life and death, beautiful and devastating. It is catastrophe and sadness, tragedy and color. Melody, silence, and clamoring bells. It is annihilation and song, whispers and poetry. It is total destruction and purest joy. It is a resounding, humming, electric balls of blinding yellow white energy. It’s a cosmic symphony, stardust, miracle, magic, and wonder. It is awe.

For a second, he could fly. He sees all this. He has wings and shoots like a bird across the earth, into the atmosphere, deeper, higher, longer. He goes into space, and he can breathe just fine. He questions nothing. He doubts nothing. He believes, knows, soars through radiant creations of all and nothing. Cheering crowds fill his ears, a stadium of fans screaming, wailing, crying, cheering him on, his name, every name he has ever had, all his names, every imaginable living thing from one end of the universe to the other encouraging him, patting him on the back, telling him he should be proud, that nothing could be more beautiful than this, that beauty is defined in this moment as this moment. Everything has purpose, meaning, and meaning and clamoring joy is what he has found. He knows it; they know it, and they are celebrating in the dance. He smiles and waves to each and every one of them. All he has to do is take one step, and yet it’s even easier than that. It’s not complicated. The melody turns back upon itself. Shadows become light. His perception, his mind reaches out, expands and does not break. It’s light, too, and it touches every corner of the globe, the galaxy, other galaxies and continues on. It moves and moves and moves, and yet, seems to stand completely still. He is traveling at light speed, yes, and not moving at all. It is everything else moving by him, though him. He has never seen, let alone, experienced anything like this, yet he knew it was there all along. Light continues to penetrate his being, and moves, emanating outward in every direction and back into him. He is gentle, soft, oceanic breezes. He is peace, tranquility, and the setting sun. He is whisper, soft melody, a rustle here and there. He is the touch of an incandescent lover. He is the moment they met. He is loneliness, loss, and isolation. He is pain, turmoil, and confusion. He is trauma and fear. He is shaken, freezing cold. He is hopeless, death, and despair. But he is the unbroken blue as well. He is lazily drifting white clouds. He is the birds in the trees, children laughing, and playing.

He spreads his arms out wider and tears continue to fall. He smiles suddenly as everything sheds off of him—years past, automatic conditioning, ritual, habit, routine. It is filth, carrion, an old crust, lice, degeneration, and decay. It is mold, mildew, and heavy stone. It is rank, offal, madness, violence, and vibrant hatred. It is broken bone, withered, rancid skin. All this has its purpose, though. He does not condemn any of it. He pockets it, in fact, stores it in a safe and sacred place and makes sure nothing can destroy it. All that old, previous waste and disease still manages to shine like a flawless jewel, he thinks.

It is amazing to be here. He has never felt so fearless, so unafraid. He has never experienced this kind of boldness, confidence, unwavering conviction. It is as if his soul has taken over the throne of his flesh, given him a trophy, first prize, a kingdom, Heaven, and kissed him fully on the lips. There is no trepidation, nervousness. He smiles, anxious to begin, to see what happens next. Could it be this is only the beginning? Amazing.

Spectrums race against time. He decides to challenge it. This ever constant, unflinching universe is no match for him. He cannot fail. He befriends it, listens, molds, and here it is now, responding to his call. He reaches out and they hold hands. All things he can do. All things he has done. There is love everywhere.

See the sun. Tuck the moon up under your arm and take to the sky. Up, up and away! Put on a cape and fly away!

The possibilities were endless.

Become a light year, a season, a fairy-tale bridge. Make everyone a shooting star, a comet across the sky. A golden treasure. I am a katydid. Follow my lead.

He laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought and brought himself back to earth. He reached down and pulled a handful of golden sand into his palms, holding it up to his face. He breathed on it as though he had magic breath, and said, “What kind of life do you see?”