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For about the past year, it has been obvious to me that there really isn’t very much, if anything, that needs to be said in the world.
If I am not in good enough shape to let you know I love you, of what use is whatever I might say going to be?
In a place of equanimity, silence is spectacular. Every sound is new. Every sight is new.
I wonder why I have spent so much of my life filling up that magnificent space with sounds and sights recorded previously and associated with other thoughts and/or emotions.
I am privileged to live in the country, where there are often long periods of no discernible sound at all. When I lived in a city, I hardly noticed that there was always noise.
I wonder why tranquility is often confused with silence?