4. To Hear Only The Silence

The forest at dusk. The blue-green air envelops me in a bright chill. The scent of foliage, soil, and rain and the taste of life itself. With each breath, I fill myself with more life. The cold air revives and invigorates parts of me that have not felt the touch of life in so long. It reminds me that my body is alive, all of it, the parts and the whole. I find myself in possession of an excess of energy beyond any need. I look up and notice the treetops have turned from green to a muddy orange. What is left of the sunlight cannot reach me — the trees gather up what little remains. With each step along the forest path, there is a muted crunch as the fibres bearing me give way. I am a substantial being — an animal with weight. Are there other animals here with me? If there are, I cannot hear them or see them. When I pause to listen, the silence is so profound that there is nothing of it my mind can grasp. How can any place be so quiet? The only source of noise is me, even when I try to be as still as the trees. I hear the sounds of my breath, of my living body. But the noise is also more than this. It comes from inside me. It is the ceaseless chatter of my mind. I do not just absorb the world around me, I also process, analyze, and evaluate it. I must abandon these compulsions. I must match my mind to this great silence. I must allow myself to be as free and clear as the forest. To see only the greens and browns, to hear only the silence, to be like wind through the leaves, a gust that comes and then goes.