Arising From Silence

In the winter I like to take long walks along the road. Sometimes the cars really bother me. Then other times I think, “Oh, it is not so bad.”

But it doesn’t matter what I think. The cars keep coming. Arising from nothing in the distance, each form growing quickly, persisting for a moment, then disappearing into the void behind me. Sometimes I turn around to watch them vanish in the distance as they had, just moments before, arose out of nothing in front of me. But I cannot grasp them. I can only hold onto the sight of them for a little bit more, or a little bit less.

The sound of each one arises from the silence, catches my attention, and then disappears back into it. Sometimes the sound will frighten me. Other times it will sooth me. No two are ever the same. The only thing they have in common is how impermanent they are.

I’ve never seen or heard the end of it. I can’t even imagine an end to it. Like waves along the shore, or the breaths in our lungs; even our lives. They appear and they vanish. That is all. There is no problem. It is not so bad.

Now that the spring is here, I hope to take long walks along the beach and through the marsh. I wonder what forms will arise from nothingness in the sky; what sounds will catch my attention as they break through the winter silence.

Summer will arise from nothing, and eventually fall back into it. All sorts of life, and expressions of life, will appear, and then vanish. That is all. There is no problem.

I could wonder forever where it all comes from, and where it all goes, but that seems beside the point.

Instead I’ll walk through the spring, and just say “Oh!” to every tiny thing which suddenly arises from the silence surrounding me.


  1. It’s a faint hope but do you still have a copy of “A Brother for Lavender” from August 2019? I loved that piece and reread it whenever I needed cheering up. The link no longer works but, if you have a copy, I would really appreciate it if you could email it to me. Thanks.


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