In the beginning was the word. And ever since there have been so many words. Our world drowns in words. So too does our inner world.
Words, words, words. How many spoken, shared, loved, fought over? More words than atoms in the universe maybe?
And in the end, what do all those words signify? Nothing.
They come, they go, they come, they go. We agitate over words, launch wars over words, bed each other with words.
We grow excited over a baby’s first words. Not so much that same child abiding in silence.
We turn toward words, not so much the quiet, white spaces that separate them.
We start fights with words and use even more of them to try and patch things up.
We seek meaning, purpose, hope in words, yet history’s sages and seers advised that true learning comes from silence.
Silence doesn’t stand much of a chance these days, with digital soapboxes in every hand and pocket. Everyone shrieking out their words.
Who is left to listen? And why should they? They’re just more words, filled with their sounds and their furies. You know the rest.
Can you picture a single day on this planet where all the humans closed their mouths, put away their keyboards and screens? The silence would be deafening. Perhaps a few of us would learn something in all that silence.
What am I? The phrase that launched countless spiritual quests. Maybe it should be modified to: Who am I in the absence of words?
