The Creeping Quiet

(note... the "today" in this was actually a couple days ago... I've been busy)

       It stopped for a time today... the voices, the thoughts tumbling over & around like rowdy and obnoxious children, the questions, the worry, the plans... It stopped for a time.


This strange, awkward time of a world that is chained together by fear, but also by love and compassion and a unconquerable hope for that unknowable "final frontier" (as Star Trek put it) of the future... this time has, I suspect, every one of us experiencing a vast array of emotions.  And, many find them difficult to process as we are banished to our homes and unable to use any of the usual methods that help us work though those emotions - social gatherings to hug & talk in person, exercise to help improve moods, even the age old reliance on alcohol & drugs is likely not as easy an escape since going out to obtain them is difficult if not impossible.

But, so many beautiful, amazing and thrilling discoveries are also being made.  From the large scale environment (no smog in China?  Clear water in Venice?) to the societal (communities banding together to protect the old & at-risk, provide meals for the young & poor) to the individual (my nephew learning to bake bagels, a friend learning an instrument, parents really spending time with children). 

Most of all, how many of us are finally slowing down enough to hear the creeping quiet that lives outside our bubbles of activity and noise and mental gymnastics?  At times, that quiet creeping in can feel ominous and nerve-wracking as so many are so unfamiliar with it in today's society.  But, given a chance, that gentle non-sound that comes both from without (no traffic, no crowds) and within, can actually provide both respite and comfort.

We are so extremely blessed to live where we do and to have the work that we do. Today we drove down to Hells Canyon and took a hike.  We parked in a remote area and started walking down an old road, talking and watching for any interesting thing.  After some time, we split up to return via separate routes.  That's when it happened.

Does the dry creek worry about when the water will come again and it can again have a purpose?  I think not... I think it waits, patiently, for the cycle to return.

The quiet takes time to seep in.... you're in it, but it's not in you.  Not at first... at first you're walking & thinking & maybe talking... and thinking... and then, slowly, quietly, unnoticed, your steps slow and your gaze lifts.  "Was that a bird?" you think.  "Look at the colors of his feathers!  Oh!  There's another!"  And just like that, you're calming and slowing and the quiet is entering you.  Not abruptly and shallowly and roughly as you had entered the quiet. But rather, slowly and deeply and abundantly.
                           (John 10:10 says "I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.")

And, as it fills me, I remember - you don't NEED to be outside to find that quiet and peace (although it IS easier there I think).  It can be found at home, inside... Often I like to use a technique that I've used when writing.  Just sit for moment, quietly, with no distractions.  Then, using your senses, catalog what your environment is telling you.  What do you smell?  What do you hear?  What can you feel?  Now, imagine that you're somewhere wonderful.  What do you smell, hear, feel there?  Let it transport you.  And, finally, open up to that place where your tumbling thoughts and fears can be calmed.  Open up to that creeping quiet.

"Be still, and know that I am God" - Ps 46:10