Silence. It comes
To you: all this is made of silence. All
The patchwork tonnage of millenniums,
The sun-built cliff, the trees
Which reeve the boulders to the sky, the
Wide,
Light-dusted river that’s about to stall,
So slow its downstream glide:
You’re spellbound by inaudibilities,
And simply sit
To wait possession out. Now every sound
That skiffs your hearing till you notice it –
The strokes of air that comb
The foliage, the freshets, birdsong
Sketches –
Emerges from and forms a mesh around
That silence, where it stretches
Suspended like a geodesic dome.
[stanza 3 and 4 from Euroka by Stephen Edgar]the poetry of Edgar is a recent discovery for me...i am awestruck by it...
all photographs from astrophotographer Laurent Laveder (how much fun would it be to be an astrophotographer!)
Where do you find your silence? Mine is usually found as I sit quietly in the garden. Or sometimes when lost in doing a piece of art. Mostly it comes when I'm meditating;in that space, that millisecond, after exhaling.
Of course, there are very few moments of real silence for most of us. But that’s okay; it’s the listening really that matters. Really listening, being aware of the mundane sounds, the lovely sounds, the grating sounds. Being there in that moment.
