Accustomed to the Noise

My childhood Elder and our church founder once said, when you are still and quiet you communicate better. But, it is the very human practice of filling our worlds with noise that best indicates our hesitation and fear to really listen. To be alone with ourselves and GOD. (paraphrased) I think people who live or frequent isolated spaces, especially by themselves, know this to be true.

Like most, I prefer the moments when I have background noises. But, when I am truly quiet, no music, no computer streaming, no television or human conversation; I realize the quiet is filled with sounds. More importantly, I can hear my own body and soul. The author Beebe Hill wrote, “the Lakota Indian believes that everything has manitou.” Everything has spirit.

In the quiet, I sense, my place in the portrait that is living, and the voice of GOD is as natural as breathing. Being alone is an oxymoron. Such a state does not exist. What we call loneliness is our word for describing being separate from the noises we are accustom to. “People who need people” is a romantic way of declaring; people who need people have grown accustomed to certain noises. And, now their relationship with GOD must fit into the revolving tunnel of those sounds.

Yesterday, I awoke from an unintended rest. (That’s code for, I fell asleep and didn’t know I had fallen asleep.) My computer had halted its streaming. There was no traffic or people nearby. Nothing. I was transported back to a still moment from earlier years. I was at Mama Rene’s house in Versailles. So quiet and still, I could hear the buzzing of a singular fly in the house. The air so sweet with quiet, I felt charged for living. Of course, at the time that meant, bursting out the door and finding my newest adventure or just being still and noticing the wonder of a space so familiar, I often did not see it.

Slowly awakening, I felt peaceful and energized. At that moment I knew there was nothing I could not do or needed to do! The fan sitting next to the floor vent hummed softly, a machine in another room clicked on and off in rhythm with its function. My house uttered its own voice, 101 years in the making. And the presence of GOD was tangible. Always there, but now, tangible without any invocation from me. So, of course, I wanted to sing.

“Aaaannndd He walks with me and He talks with me and tells me I am His ownnnn. And the joy we share as I tarry there, none other has ever knownnnn.” (I Come to the Garden Alone, C. Austin Miles)

Have a quiet and prosperous day!