Quiet
mornings . . . I’m a sucker for them. And I try to draw them out as long as
possible. It’s almost ten, and I’m still calling it “my quiet morning.”
Meaning, I have put very little effort into starting into a project, homework,
getting out of my PJs. Meaning, I have put my efforts into coffee, food, and
chill music. So maybe Miranda Lambert’s “Kerosene” doesn’t qualify as chill.
I need my
quiet. We all do. Need. Just as we all need people, dammit. It stinks—quiet,
solitude, what you will, is torture for some people. People, noise, talk (that
nasty impossibility called “small talk”), interaction—that is torture for
others.
But that
quiet is also the most conducive for reading, writing, being a student. The
quiet without the music, that is. The quiet whose music is a snowflake, a blue
sky, a breeze, a shuffling of papers, a scratching pen, a clicking keyboard.
Quiet is
dangerous. No. Aloneness is dangerous. Prolonged aloneness. Days. Hours for
some. It depends on the person and her situation. But she always has her
breath; truly, she is not alone. Her breath is always there. The internet is
lonely. It is a dead complexity. The breath is company. It is a live
simplicity.
Jesus, you
say, Jesus is company. So send Him to my pal over there. He doesn’t disbelieve
you; he’s just waiting for the tap on the shoulder. And is Jesus, or God,
pleasant company? What if he wants Him to go away? That young man would say He
already has, if He was around in the first place. God kneeling and wiping the
tears from his face is an image of beauty and compassion. And it is a cruel
joke. Where is He? “Do not be afraid. I am with you.” Oh really?
This is when
solitude can be torture. When company is emptiness. When alone in a crowd. As
if crowds weren’t bad enough, not a soul is familiar. Already panicked, the
promised company to see you through is nowhere to be found. So this is what I get for trusting.
Returning to
the breath is much more comforting. It is always there. It is not disruptive in
solitude nor does it desert one in need of company. Here I am, it whispers. Here
I am.
