This post might have something to do with the fact that I’m 70 years old and freaking out a bit….that I’m 70 years.
But WTF…..here we go.
“Hello darkness, my old friend.
I’ve come to talk with you again”…..the sounds of silence.
I noticed this, acutely, on my last, solo, month-long trip, in March, to Cape Cod.
And, in equal measure, all through my more recent, Spring-like experiences in Austin.
I’m experiencing what seems to be… a quiet life.
And I’m completely digging this hushness.
Here’s the oddity of it all. This quiet life is really fucking loud. Louder than I ever remembered it.
I’m hearing so many voices and sounds that, as a creative, I never heard before, in the same quantity and quality?
It’s strange.
I never heard them because these more recent sounds, for many reasons, were smothered out and silenced by the necessity of need and obligation.
Creativity has a way of flourishing in silence.
Things are quiet in a physical sense, but loud as fucking hell in a creative sense.
Maybe only artists and poets would ever understand this?
As we lean into the aloneness, even loneliness of life, we hear and see a new side of life that we never imagined even existing.
The quiet life is a beautiful thing, a quiet thing, a creative thing, an inspiring thing. Ahhhhhh.
“Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping”
Click.
Jack
