Bittersweet, alive, empty confusion.
What do our daily days mean?
Our daily ups and downs,
our duties, to do lists.
Our ways of keeping us busy and in a hurry,
but engaged with small things like
what to make for dinner, E=MC2, the face of a clock.
Making sure we don’t lose things, forget things,
miscalculate things, mis-communicate things, or misjudge.
Making sure we see ourselves growing, progressing, discovering something new.
Distracted with our game, our art, our masterpiece,
our little stage with props and characters,
sights and sounds,
and the millions of details bouncing in our brains.
But distracted? Distracted from what?
What else would we rather be doing?
What else is more real than our simple ways of
playing, engaging in the world we have constructed for ourselves?
It’s a different place and eventually,
little by little, the noise,
Until all we have is
the sound of trees.
It’s always there and it’s always waiting for us,
at the edge of the world.
And we will always see it at the right time.
a wild, blue ocean below our swift moving clouds.
It makes us question the dissonance
between silence and sound.
But the noise is comforting, it’s familiar,
it’s home like your dog whining at 7am to go for a walk
or running to catch the bus to get to work
or a child spilling juice on you when eagerly telling you a story.
At times we get stressed, resentful but
in a subtle, pervasive way
we may actually enjoy it.
We may even feel that subtle,
deep, contentment in the noise and busyness
as if we’re at the edge of the world
but also living in it.