nothing can touch this silence


Nothing particular occurred*, yet everything is different.

Six or seven months ago, I was tormented by traffic noise, by neighbors’ noise – televisions, microwaves, toilets, voices, whistlers and whingers.  I was accustomed to quiet rural habitats where the ambient stillness soothed my own mind’s noise.  But now it was yapping on in a jungle of ‘people’ noise: unbearable.  It drove me nuts.

Nothing, now, can touch this silence.  Which is not to say that the world has become quiet.  It’s a riddle I know, but in the same way that Emptiness is fullness, this Silence is sound-full.  Every conceivable noise arises in IT,  meets no resistance and dissolves back into IT.

In a totally inexplicable way, everything IS this silence.


* the free-fall : 2002-03

my feet are clumsy


The absence of striving brings the arrival of quietude.

It’s nothing ecstatic or amazing; just the palpable absence of dis-ease.

No goodness, no evil, no victim and no saint.
No protection, no danger, no salvation.
Nothing to be done and no one to do it.
No past, no future, no one going anywhere.

Sounds like the end of ‘your’ world?

It is.

But Life dances on.

My feet are clumsy; I’m still getting used to ITs wild rhythm.