Silence At Three
Nothing is quite as dark and silent as the garden at three in the morning. The dogs head out at that hour with the same 'joie de vivre' as they do in the middle of the day. It would seem to anyone who isn't owned by a dog that it is an impertinence to be out sniffing and peeing in the dark of that hour.
Of course, there are various kinds of dark, depending how close or far you live from the city. When the only light is the moon, and the stars are so bright and crisp that you can reach out and touch Cassiopeia, you can call yourself lucky. The soul who is allowed to stand barefoot in the lush carpet of dark grass wearing little but jammies is nourished in the darkness. It is hard to fathom how just stepping into the darkness can scare so many. On reflection, it is understandable, given how foreign that experience has become. This occasional forced dark meditation is a blessing and I am awed at how amazing the stars look in the dark night sky.
Our lives are lived at breakneck speed amid a cacophony of sound and light. The norm, for the most part, is to sit behind drawn shades with the TV or music filling our ears and pot lights scaring away the demons. The black velvet pall of night hides all the things that go bump in the night. What is it that scares us?
Is it a metaphorical darkness that frightens us? Could it be the darkness of our minds and the shadow of death, no matter our age? It makes us inclined to close the blinds, turn up the volume and hope that it will not tap us on the shoulder. I feel a sobering grief that the coming generations might live only with noise and light. They will never recognize both the silence and the darkness as an endangered, precious gift. If we ever expect answers to all the questions we face everyday, how will we hear them if we never introduce ourselves to the silence that allows "inner-speak" or "God Answers"?
At the insistent whimpering of "Big Red", I grab a wrap and tiptoe out of the bedroom. Ever so carefully I turn the latch on the door and step out into the garden. The great horned owl nearby complains about my disturbing presence while the dog checks the yard and does her business. I settle into a lawn chair as the world sleeps. I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders and begin counting the stars.
Nothing is quite as dark and silent as the garden at three in the morning. The dogs head out at that hour with the same 'joie de vivre' as they do in the middle of the day. It would seem to anyone who isn't owned by a dog that it is an impertinence to be out sniffing and peeing in the dark of that hour.
Of course, there are various kinds of dark, depending how close or far you live from the city. When the only light is the moon, and the stars are so bright and crisp that you can reach out and touch Cassiopeia, you can call yourself lucky. The soul who is allowed to stand barefoot in the lush carpet of dark grass wearing little but jammies is nourished in the darkness. It is hard to fathom how just stepping into the darkness can scare so many. On reflection, it is understandable, given how foreign that experience has become. This occasional forced dark meditation is a blessing and I am awed at how amazing the stars look in the dark night sky.
Our lives are lived at breakneck speed amid a cacophony of sound and light. The norm, for the most part, is to sit behind drawn shades with the TV or music filling our ears and pot lights scaring away the demons. The black velvet pall of night hides all the things that go bump in the night. What is it that scares us?
Is it a metaphorical darkness that frightens us? Could it be the darkness of our minds and the shadow of death, no matter our age? It makes us inclined to close the blinds, turn up the volume and hope that it will not tap us on the shoulder. I feel a sobering grief that the coming generations might live only with noise and light. They will never recognize both the silence and the darkness as an endangered, precious gift. If we ever expect answers to all the questions we face everyday, how will we hear them if we never introduce ourselves to the silence that allows "inner-speak" or "God Answers"?
At the insistent whimpering of "Big Red", I grab a wrap and tiptoe out of the bedroom. Ever so carefully I turn the latch on the door and step out into the garden. The great horned owl nearby complains about my disturbing presence while the dog checks the yard and does her business. I settle into a lawn chair as the world sleeps. I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders and begin counting the stars.