However, as much company as my own turmoil can be, I do seek
the rejuvenating power of quiet time.
Not total silence, mind you, that would be too creepy. Sensory deprivation is never the goal, but shielding
oneself from the external distractions of everyday life is. When we work out our muscles, we need sleep
to heal and repair, but silence or quiet time is like sleep for the brain. One
of the few truly useful things my mother has imparted to me is a rhyme. I'm sure you’ve heard it:
A wise old owl sat
in an oak
The more he saw,
the less he spoke
The less he spoke,
the more he heard
Now wasn’t he a
wise old bird!
Knowing when to keep silent is at times an elusive art
form, at least for me. Some folks seem
to be gifted with the ability to keep their mouth shut at the right time and
place, while others seem cursed to never speak their minds. There are many reasons for people being
afraid to give voice to the things that impact them on a personal level. Abusive relationships will do that to a
person, often without realizing its happening.
Waiting for the “right time” or a softer moment often never comes, and
we begin the practice of bottling things way deep inside….of course….there is
only so much room in a bottle. Once you
put something in practice, you are on the road to habit. Also, some people are just not built that
way. The beautifully minded ones of
special conscience, the non combative are by nature peaceful and not aggressive. I believe they are truly more evolved and are
more heroic in my view than their counterparts.
However, until the world rotates itself into a state of
total peace and harmony, some of us have to speak up. As for me, I am unfettered by the softer
approach. The ridiculous and unfair seem
to be everywhere. My bullshit filter is
sharply focused, perhaps too focused, often coloring across the lines into
impatience. Those who know me well will
laugh at that last sentence; I’m sure feeling that “often” is not strong enough
a word. I'm ok with it though.
Over the last few years I have learned to make friends
with myself, and am ever aware of the need to marry silence and patience. It took some doing, let me tell you. Trying to get a terminally impatient man to be
at ease with himself is like trying to teach good people skills to a DMV
clerk. What I learned, what I have put
into practice has had an impact in other areas of my life as well.
One afternoon in my workshop, building an engine, I found
I needed to build a custom bracket for a non-stock alternator. The
new bracket did not quite fit between one part and another, and after many
trips to the grinder I was getting more than frustrated. The radio was screaming in the background and
my own sense of self imposed pressure was taking over. The more I ground off, the more my
beautifully crafted new alternator bracket became brutalized. Out loud, as the total mayhem of my own
design close in, I screamed, “there’s no f#^%ing room!” Like a missile, the bracket left my hand and
buried itself deep inside the radio.
Silence followed. The silence was
so dark and cool I could hear my heart beating in my head. I dropped my hands to my side and stood with
my fists clenched. Tears were near the
surface. I was stunned to realize how wound up I had become. What had begun as a pleasurable and happy
afternoon in my workshop had turned into a thunderstorm inside my head. “There’s no F#*^%ing room,” ricocheted around
inside my head like a rifle bullet in a metal box.
I rather rapidly understood, standing on the cool cement
floor, that it wasn’t the alternator bracket that needed some grinding down, it was me.
My mind was full of noise and impatience, leaving not room at all for
the calm and attention I needed to finish the job. I let go the tension in my fists and breathed
in a fresh breath, or two, or three…
Outside my shop, against the front wall, is a small garden
bench. I got it from who-knows-where,
but I don’t sit in it often enough. Leaning
back on its hard wooden slats, I slowly calmed down. I’ve never been a violent man, but will admit
to a few private little temper tantrums in my lifetime. They have never ended with the desired
result, and nothing has ever fixed itself because of one. Once long ago, while fixing a Jaguar engine
in the freezing cold and splitting my icy knuckles on steel, I threw a wrench
out of my garage. It bounced off my
driveway, sailed across the street and went through the neighbor’s car side
window. A sobering and expensive outburst. If it wasn’t for the incredibly good nature
of my neighbor, who took great delight at my sad and sorrowful explanation and apology
at his front door, it could have been much worse.
This time, sitting quietly on garden bench, outside my
workshop, I had nearly forgotten the alternator bracket and was now acutely aware
of myself. The truth of the answer was
more obvious than the nose on my face, which is rather obvious. I had known what needed to be done to fix the
problem, but did not want to listen to my own intuition. I was trying to make something that looked
good fit where it didn’t belong. In
retrospect, it’s not the first time I’ve made that mistake. If had just taken the time to stop, look and
quiet my own thoughts I would still have been happily working. The noisy radio had not been helping, and
although that particular radio would sing no more, it wasn’t its fault. After long moments in the sun and silent afternoon
air, I was able to rise again to face the task at hand.
Silence is our friend.
It’s not something to hide from. It’s
not punishment and it’s not the absence of entertainment or fun. Silence is not loneliness. So often the two are presented in the
negative, hand in hand, but they are far from similar. Silence, or quiet, is the home of
patience. It is the foundation of inspiration,
of art and focus. Silence is the shutter
of the mind’s eye. In silence, looking
inward, one can see more clearly outward.
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