A rest – a moment of silence in a musical composition

What is silence?

Is it: A complete lack of sound?

As a human being, this kind of silence is impossible to create and exist in at the same time.

There is always the heartbeat.

There is always the breath.

An absence of machine sounds?

of voices?

As I have done since the birth of this blog, I continue in my attempt to change my perception of things in order to decrease suffering. One tool I’m exploring is silence.

“Be still…”

As a mom of a six-year-old, finding silence is nearly impossible. As a 21st century human being; doubly so.

If finding silence, an age-old tradition of hermits and spiritual seekers, is not possible in my very normal thirty-something world, how then do I rethink the concept of silence so I can find it in my life?

So you can find it in yours.

Silence in a noisy world.

The benefits are numerous and well documented.

The how; not so much.

What are your thoughts, dear readers; and your advice, as I move forward into this new rethink life project?




It is very early in the morning. My husband is away for business and my son is asleep. The dog snores as he lays in the bed in front of me.

I was plagued by bad dreams all night. Silly, stupid dreams having to do with silly stupid things like my husband having affairs or my best friend deciding we were no longer friends after 18 years.

Silly things.

But they have shaken my mood this morning. I am sure it has something to with the rejection yesterday. Or maybe it has to do with the storm raging outside.

For those who have never bee to the Pacific Northwest, the trees are plentiful and tall. They surround everything and all things. A constant, just as the water is in all of its abundance. In storms, those same tall and massive trees sway in the wind. Gusts of 45 mph plus, pushing and pulling at their rain-heavy branches.

I would like to say that storms do not bother me up here. Storms that bother me are the green skies of Texas; when you look out over the flat landscape and you see the sickly-tinged sky coming ever closer. The smash of thunder so loud it shakes the dishes in the cupboards. The wind that seems to concentrate before pulling and uprooting all in its path.

Those are the scary storm. The kind that requires hiding in closets with blankets or in cellars if you have one.

The storms here, they are different. Not violent like that; not a punch in the face, but rather a pressure, a moving pressure in one’s body as it flows its way through the area.

I am not scared, necessarily, but I am more effected than I used to be… a responsibility of life, I think. The knowledge that storms not only push and pull and destroy me, but those I love as well.

I must be careful of storms, as must we all. They can do so much damage, and yet there is nothing that can truly be done. Only so much preparedness is allowed. Only so much control.

Placing one’s trust in something bigger and not in the least understandable.