The sound of silence
I think today the first time in the seven months since I came back to the UK that I knew the sound of nothing but the wind in the trees. No cars, no industry, no people, no sirens. Just stillness. And it made me realise just what a difference the environment has on me (and I suggest on everyone). Most of us who live and go about life in the city do so in an interminable sea of hustle and bustle. The stream of traffic on the road outside, that stops only for a few precious hours before dawn; the sound of water travelling through unseen pipes in the wall; the whirring of the fan inside a computer. All these noises have become so much a part of our surroundings that we cannot escape them.
It is when they are taken away, and the senses are for once left untouched, is when their effect becomes apparent. As I cycled out into the countryside, away from the roads and houses and people, I felt a sense of relief. Relief at being able to sense the thoughts arising in my mind; at being conscious for once of my own presence in the world around me.
What, then, is the effect that the assorted clutter that we carry about our senses having on us? I think that it adds just one more layer of strain, of disturbance, of unease to those that we already have enough of in daily life. To use the old adage, it's one more straw on the donkey's back.
Maybe if we unloaded that unnecessary burden from the senses just once in a while, it would benefit us and the world around us. Sunday could become that sort of day of rest. A chance to be alone with that part of us which is most near, yet most neglected.
On a similar theme, I too this morning was momentarily able to detach from the busy people-polluted environment in which we live. In recent weeks a tiny blue tit has made her home in the tree opposite my bedroom window where she now has a young family. From around 6.30am every morning until 9pm she swoops from her branch, returning only moments later, her beak full of tasty morsels for her hungry young. Each time she returns, she first perches on my windowsill, inches away from where I sit watching her, and lets out a small chirrup before flitting back into her tree. She does this all day, possibly a hundred times or more, seemingly without tiring, the only telltale signs of her overexertion being a small bald patch on her chest which, over the last couple of days, seems to have got larger.
This morning, as has been usual since my new friend made her home, I was awoken by the familiar chirrup, but when I drew my curtains I drew breath as I saw my bald-chested companion was not now carrying food as she sat on my window ledge, but was watching on proudly as three tiny fledglings were making tentative steps along the branch, their tiny wings beating, eager to take off and follow their mum but their gangly feet still clinging to the bark beneath them. Their initial hesitation soon passed and before long the tiny newcomers darted about in delight of their newly-found freedom.
At that moment, nothing mattered but the miraculous achievements of this tiny family. The pride of my tiny blue friend was clearly evident, and I in turn felt proud of her as I knew that all of her hard work and dedication was for this moment. Whist making me feel good to be alive and honoured to have witnessed this momentous event, it made me realise that whilst we are all tied up in our busy lives, many really amazing things are going on all around us, and it is only rarely we stop to notice them. Maybe, as you say, if we could only take a little more time to detach from our noisy, busy surroundings then we could appreciate more often some of the many normally unnoticed daily miracles around us.
Beautifully expressed! Thank you :)