Time has seemingly just passed. It did not give advance notice, late apologies, or even a half-hearted hand wave. So, a year and a half has slipped by, and I wonder why I let it happen; why I did not make a record of me, of it, of all those people and events around me.
I can feel my fingertips clumsily caress the keyboard, having to retype again and again, trying to unravel the confusion of long silence. Thoughts are not things, right now, but rather elusive shadows which I struggle to individualise. Maybe, if I were an ornithologist I would be more successful at it, with the added expertise of identifying one single song among the cacophony of a jungle canopy. Be that as it may, shortcomings or apprehension aside, I sit at my computer and chose to climb back to the peak of my mountain, ready to yodel away.
Silence, like time, is a curious estate to be in. Some people merely feel awkward when facing silence; some others feel lost in the border-less expanse of nothing opened up by silence; yet others crawl into that space as into a cocoon from the outside. I, however, fall to a fourth group, that of those who redirect their silence into a practice so that by the time they are floating in it, they can justify it. We are the ones that are most delusional about silence, so much so that we are the most scared once we notice that we're not able to feel the ground under.
That, I guess, is where I got. That, I know, is what I have swam my way back from. Sure, in the meantime I have crossed some mayor thresholds I probably would not have even looked at while on dry ground. For that, I am grateful. I am grateful for my own resilience, my own dedication to living, a dedication nurtured slowly, steadily, at times more by rota than awareness.
The top of the mountain, unlike the middle of the sea, is tough to reach. The top, however, gives you the joy of a panoramic vision only usually the prerogative of eagles. But then, maybe my song is not that of the tropical birds, rather the cry that echoes through the peaks.
It is good to hear my voice again.
