I have a dream of utopian extremes. It is a place where I walk in abundant silence, but am not alone. Have you ever wondered what this might be like? Think of it. We all have the same friends, and we have the same family, but we are all suddenly muted by the quiet of careful contemplation. We consider every second as a sacred gift, and place a new ribbon at the end of every emotional challenge, because we are not too numb to undertake them. We do not focus on such benign endeavours as money or careers. Rather, we read books and absorb their messages. We watch with fascination as the smallest insect’s crawl the branches of the tallest trees. We stop to savour the swirl of water around our bodies, and the warmth of sun drenched footpaths under our padding feet. We hold mangoes to our nostrils for a little longer, and watch sunsets until the orange hues fade back to blues.
We appreciate honesty that is carefully disguised when feelings are in the noose. We value an inner intelligence that lasts, over an external beauty that fades. We love our own company and do not need to distract ourselves from it. We can look into ourselves and face our ugliest darkness, and feel freedom within it. No one can touch us, because we lie alongside our own awareness. And because we accept our basest selves, we no longer hold the capacity to judge others. We love others simply because they are different from us, rather than allow alienation to abduct our sense of union.
How do we achieve this?
There is an immortal man who is tall and lean. He is made from humble simplicity and divine mental beauty. He has no use for menial conversation or polite bravado. He only speaks when there is something relevant to say. His mind is so beautiful, that he is given the job to magically reach into your psyche and steal your capacity for words. He takes them from you, and he then he sits with you like a father. He tells you that you have ten thousand words left, so you must be careful to use them wisely.
You have ten thousand words left to speak, and then you run out forever. What would you say? Write them down, read them, and then feel ashamed of the fact that you have probably never spoken them aloud. Now return to the real world, a world where you are blessed to have the lyrical freedom to speak of the ridiculous things that you do. Tell the world what you wrote, and then never speak again. You will have served more purpose, than if you lived until eighty, and never uttered a single syllable again.
Noise is the most destructive distraction from true contentment with one’s self. Noise from commercials and noise from television; noise from acquaintances, friends and family who skip over the shallow surfaces, of the deep rivers, that define lives.
When was the last time that you listened to absolutely nothing? When was the last time you really listened to yourself? When was the last time that you uttered a sentence that was actually worth listening to? You have ten thousand words left. What are you going to say?
Mould the world.
Don’t let the world mould you.