Breathe No More

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow—

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well:—

Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met

—In silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?

—With silence and tears.

Lord Byron

Brutality of Silence

“Oppression can only survive through silence.”

Carmen de Monteflores

A fleeting moment of ecstasy quickly dissipates from the senses as the deafening roar of silence approaches as swiftly as night obscuring the vibrant colors of light replacing them with a lifeless pall of grey. The exuberance of warmth with its clarified purpose and exquisite detail slowly yields to a cold uncertainty which dulls the mind with obsessive destruction that systematically dismantles any security in the belief that the beauty of life remains within reach. The silence grows as emotions flood every thought until the ringing in my ears can’t be tolerated. Reality recedes like the picture of an old television tube after it has been turned off, quickly denatured of primary hues that disappear into a white dot of light, flickering before disappearing into a black abyss. What remains is a mental struggle for sanity with the strengthening grip of silence. As each second grows to an untamable eternity time becomes the most powerful weapon of silence wielded with ruthless brutality seeking to crush any sanctuary or refuge of reason.

When the mind is idle without direction or focus, demons emerge from dark shadows of silence to dance in the conscientious, harnessing boundless creative energy to construct disturbing visions of loss and pain. The images born of a firestorm of doubt are more vivid than reality, manifesting into visions of betrayal devised to unleash a flood of anger, hopelessness and loss. The creative power of imagination is hijacked by the subconscious to explore all scenarios of possibilities with the intent of inflecting mental discomfort of the cardinal order. I am a prisoner of the silence forced to watch increasingly more perverse interpretations of my worst nightmares. Like a soldier bound and seated before a white sheet with him eyes taped open so that under no circumstances he can avert him gaze from the flittering images that torments his soul, I am bound to watch as imagination claws at my flesh attempting to find a soft weakness so that a mortal wound can be inflicted. Each personal acknowledgement of weakness is quickly attacked with mental abortions and repeated imagines of increasing brutality. Where is the joy of spring, the perfumed whisper of convergence? How long will I have to wait until tenderness and compassion lifts me back into the light removing the cloak of blackness that blinds me from all that I desire?

My stomach sours as searing cramps acknowledges the relentless attack of silence. A putrid acid rises to erode my resolve as I wait for the brutality to crease, but it won’t for I am trapped in a dimension devoid of time. The slim vestiges of hope that ecstasy and light will return to hold me and secure my loss slowly dissipate like morning dew under the intense desert sun. Fear of the pain recedes as a greater fear emerges from the recesses of my mind. It is a blue cloud of sadness that weighs heavy on me like lead. I struggle violently in order to escape its deadly grip, hoping to hide in a sacred sanctuary of bliss. My breath becomes labored as I feel misfortune sits beside me placing its cold fist on my chest. My mind is numb and listless as I wait for the images that pound on me with a relentless rhythm to end. My limbs are lethargic without purpose as I am paralyzed by the cruelest of imagined outcomes, but still the silence beats in my heart and rings in my ears. An impenetrable veil of gloom surrounds my sadness, a veil that all hope is obscured under, a veil that is stitched from the thread of despair. Deeper and darker my thoughts spiral downward, never closer to rescue, always increasing in negative aspect, always preventing me a handhold to resist my descent. The uncertainty is boundless, as I wait for a sign, a small gesture like a frightened child alone in the dark.

From beneath the droning madness of the silence is a faint undetectable tone that begins to emerge. A counter melody to a disturbing symphony of darkness grows like a flowering vine among the thorny briars. A whisper at first subtle enough to make me question its existence, but I dismiss it as only the madness feeding my isolation. My numb tortured mind wants to believe that a song so angelic and so perfect that it melts the sorrow and uncertainty. Hope flows back into my limbs as the voice lingers with a beauty which can not be held drifting on the scented summer breeze. For the briefest of moments the soft voice nourishes me with tenderness as tears of relief fill the sky glistening like diamonds. There is no desire to understand why I was abandon for so long, only the need to be as one again. I revel in its beauty as hope washes over me cleansing the despair from my soiled soul. The world fills with light as I breathe deeply inhaling an inspired sense of aspirations which empower my dreams to soar. I am comforted by the caring sweet caresses as I float on cottony white clouds of tenderness.

As quickly as it appeared the voice disappears leaving me in the bliss of a lingering sunset of ecstasy. I race for the horizon to capture the fleeting rays of color but am left gasping for air with my limbs burning as the sunset is extinguished against the cold black earth. Dusk leads the triumphant return of night and uncertainty as my surroundings implode and collapse upon me with a suffocating weight of sorrow. Slowly fear creeps from the shadows to reside in its familiar place next to me while reaching for my hand; I resist the temptation to stare into the cold black lifeless eyes which gaze at me with endless anticipation knowing I will eventually fall into a morose sleep. My angelic voice of life has dissipated as the maddening drone of darkness fills every crack and seam leaving no escape. I once again I resign myself sit to alone waiting for the brutality of silence to cease.

“Now the sirens have a still more fatal weapon than their song, namely their silence... someone might have escaped from their singing; but from their silence, certainly never.”

Franz Kafka (1883 - 1924)

Unkempt Thoughts

“Silence propagates itself, and the longer talk has been suspended, the more difficult it is to find anything to say”.

Samuel Johnson (1709 – 1784)

Out of the silence I am compelled to whisper so that my thoughts are released into the summer air freeing me of the burden of sequestering them in my mind. I have no explanation for my prolonged silence, only that I find there is no voice to describe what is most remarkable. Is it that there are new ways to communicate or can it be that communication has ceased and silence prevails? It is not for lack of effort, for there are a dozen stories half finished discarded and abandon, unkempt thoughts that failed to capture sufficient interest to merit completion. To the contrary my summer has unfettered exploration and discovery beyond my dreams.

Taking time to embrace the fullness of life with enthusiasm and abandon has freed me from the need or the time to reflect on its meaning. In the short time since capturing my last thoughts I have wandered the great wildness and stood at the top of the world only to capture a rainbow in the broken sleet, kneeling before the beauty with lungs and muscles burning from the lack of air. I have sat on the shore watching the surf pound alone for hours as dolphins passed before me in the hundreds only to be obscured by the ebbing sunset. I have spent endless days touring the wine country savoring each taste of bottled sunshine. I enjoyed an incredible evening at the finest restaurant in the world and had the chef provide a personal tour of the kitchen. I have witnessed one of the great sporting events of the nation which started 133 years ago. I have traveled to dozens and dozens of locations to be treated as a respected celebrity of sorts. I have met fascinating people and renewed friendships. I have spent quiet and meaningful time with family. I have been honored to speak at the birthday of a centenarian that I can not recall a time in my life when I did not know her. I have loved without fear and been deeply rewarded.

I find myself humbled to a degree that silence seems to be the appropriate response. I harbor no illusion that my musings finds an audience beyond which can be counted on a single hand. Therefore I see little obligation to be prescriptive in my thoughts for they can be as irregular, incoherent and unkempt as I like. It is a rare moment in life where bliss flows over me like a wave. Content in holding my breath for as long as possible, I am certain I shall surface for air, but until then I shall listen to the silence of my unkempt thoughts.

“Happiness comes of the capacity to feel deeply, to enjoy simply, to think freely, to risk life, to be needed.”

Storm Jameson

Who’ll Stop the Rain

“Long as I remember
the rain been comin' down.
Clouds of myst'ry pouring
confusion on the ground.
Good men through the ages,
try'n' to find the sun,
and I wonder, still I wonder,
who'll stop the rain.”

John Fogerty

In the silence of the world the air fills with the sound of the whip as the flesh is torn from my back. Only the weak of heart seeks a dark apology for the wrath of pain that anoints our soul. The strong and virtuous admit no destiny in kneeling before adversity, nor shall I. Courage is not granted by the almighty but is earned by the necessity to withstand the winds of the tempest as it approaches. My eyes are affixed and my resolve steeled as I await the struggle. A sturdy staff fashioned of faith shall be my only protection as the eye of the storm once again passes over what I cherish. Standing naked before the fury I shall not waiver, for my strength and determination will withstand the onslaught or I shall forever be swept away.

On the eleventh anniversary of my father’s passing and the eve before Thanksgiving the mystery of my wife’s weight loss is discovered. A scan has revealed a massive tumor in her abdomen. We shall once again await the holiday in silence gazing at the storm on the horizon.

“There are times when God asks nothing of his children except silence, patience and tears.”

C. S. Robinson

“The eternal silence of these infinite spaces fills me with dread.”

Blaise Pascal (1623 - 1662)

Leaning into the Light

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us.”

Charles Dickens (1812 - 1870)
A Tale of Two Cities

Five sets of eyes separated by uncertainty and fear stare blankly into the blackness, not knowing what the future will demand. Alone in the darkness laid out as if for a funeral wake prostrate on cotton sheets in the small hours of the night they wait for an answer, they wait for a reason, they wait for courage, they wait for dawn to postpone the agony until night falls again. A single event has create a breach in the dam of their secure existence cascading change and chaos down on them in ways considered inconceivable such a short time ago. The quickly approaching torrents of change have been released to seek a new balance, reconstructing the landscape, cleansing the ground where we all found comfort and belonging. The only certainty is that we will not recognize the new day as we have for years gone by.

In the darkness, each of the five in absolute silence constructs dialogues to conversations that will never happen, replaying the discussions over and over until all the responses are perfected and routine. Each of us will live the event in the darkness a thousand times before it ever happens and yet we will have never crafted a version that matches the reality of the day. As the events are set into motion all we can do is hope that the new day will bring order to the chaos of change and begin constructing a new routine as the future is revealed. Staring into the void of darkness a weight of angst presses down on your chest shortening your breath into small uncomfortable small gasps in which you struggle to fill your lungs. Each breath no longer soothes and relaxes the soul but contributes to a sense of panic and hopelessness as the tightness grows. The silence is so consuming that that the labored attempt to inhale echoes in the emptiness until it fills the entire room robbing the mind of the illusion that we are in control of the future. Seeking relief we recall positive statements of affirmation which provides us strength.

“When you close your doors, and make darkness within, remember never to say that you are alone, for you are not alone; nay, God is within, and your genius is within. And what need have they of light to see what you are doing?”

Epictetus (55 AD - 135 AD)
Discourses

Every cell of the body is burning as if on fire from the adrenaline that is being pumped into the blood, a primitive relic of evolution which tells us that danger is eminent and in order to survive we must flee. The fingers and toes begin to tingle as every hair on the body stands like an antenna absorbing latent energy from the air. We float between the known and unknown on the edge of matter and energy. The only response is to remain motionless allowing this last surge of energy to dissipate like ripples on a pond. For a small moment we indulge a fantasy envisioning the relief of discarding our future by running to a distant shore where all the concerns and responsibilities of the world are left behind unable to find us in an imaginary game of hide and seek with the subconscious. The illusion is brief, for there is no solution in hiding, masking the wound only deepens the despair and hopelessness. Reality will continue to seek us out from our swaddled nest of denile.

“Do not pursue what is illusory - property and position: all that is gained at the expense of your nerves decade after decade and can be confiscated in one fell night. Live with a steady superiority over life - don't be afraid of misfortune, and do not yearn after happiness; it is after all, all the same: the bitter doesn't last forever, and the sweet never fills the cup to overflowing.”

Alexander Solzhenitsyn (1918 - )

The endless dialogues start over again with new insights, quietly seeking to find the land mines which are hidden in plain sight. In our darkness we are allowed to step on the land mines triggering havoc and destruction only to experience its consequence so we see through the debris a path of direction. Over and over again we live in an infinite number of simultaneous universes each in motion deciphering clues for seeing the future. The mind races attempting to exhaust infinity though brute force and determination, but our mind fails to catalogue the multitude of possibilities as a curtain of chaos obscures our thoughts.

“Strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others.”

Joseph Conrad (1857 - 1924)
Heart of Darkness

The silence is deafening as my heartbeat pounds in my ears counting the seconds as they pass. In order to maintain sanity in the consummate void of silence, my ears begin to hear a slight buzz which reminds me of the white noise that would fill the room when the old black and white television sets would end the broadcast day and leave the air. My mind has had enough and is it distracting itself my processing white noise. Exhaustion overwhelms as my mind discards and unloads all of the infinity realities yet unresolved.

A faint glow begins to grow outside the window signaling an end to the darkness and dread. In a short while we will all be engaged in the false comfort of the daily routine, making believe that last night was only a nightmare and change is waiting further into the future somewhere past another night of staring into emptiness. This day, we will stare into these five sets of eyes seeking comfort in the fact that we can all ignore the realities of the future hidden in the shadow of darkness, where making believe that all is right bides time against the chaos of uncertainty. Each of us will set aside our fears until darkness comes again, but change is on its way and nothing we can do will dissuade that eventually.

“How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in life, when one finds darkness not only in one's culture but within oneself? If there is a stage at which an individual life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such paradox. One must live in the middle of contradiction, because if all contradiction were eliminated at once life would collapse. There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light.”

Barry Lopez

The Wire

There’s hard silence
On the end of a wire
Like the free trial
Time will expire

A book of photos
Gathers dust
Along the way
I lost the trust

It is her life
She can not share
If I was to fall
She can not care

Hoping to escape
She had a scheme
A distance shore
She builds a dream

Asking for little
Wanting too much
I look at the wire
Barely in touch

Should I let go
Adrift from shore
Tides wash away
Never was before

There’s hard silence
On the end of a wire
What does it matter
Only fools desire

In Memory of MLK

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
Martin Luther King Jr. (1929 - 1968)