From: a slow and sudden God: 40 years of wonder.


you are too often missing among us.
we raise the noise.
we add and add and add
more sound to keep you out.

we fail to know we need you.
we crave you, but misinterpret desires, crafting new trends of sound, volume.

on an elevator, music.

in a vehicle, music.

on an airplane, noise.

in a home, noise.

noise and more noise.
sounds and more sounds. 
high volume occupying
all we do
wherever we go
whenever that might be.

morning noise.
noon noise.
evening noise.

sounds shift
but rarely depart to leave
space for silence.

we must intentionally choose you.
we only hear you, silence, when we
work hard to push away the noise and aggressively craft noiselessness.

my left hand holds the steering wheel and my right foot guides the speed and my left foot rests in her place. i force my right hand to reach forward and turn the radio off. i do not need the songs, the news, the noise. i need you, silence. you, that often missed medicine of my rides.

my eyes stare at a device my left hand holds while walking to exercise. but i’m missing the deeper endeavor of placing a phone away, pushing my tasks aside, pausing my hurried mental sprint, and embracing a neighborhood to be seen, a sky to be observed, air to be slowly and deeply breathed, birds’ concerts to be heard, and no tasks to be completed.

in a conversation with a friend i can listen. just listen. thinking not of how i’ll respond.
at a meal with myself i can just eat, slowly, calmly. just eat. reaching not for a laptop or phone or other device. staring not at a screen.

being. not doing.

nothing. as a needed something.

resting while in a hurry, appreciating while wanting, grasping while unsure:
silent prayer and thought helps me accomplish those goals
of little cultural importance but
personal need.

i need nothing. no noise. now.
i need you, dear silence.
i need to hear you.
and learn about life
uncontrolled by the noise
that keeps you hidden from us.