Behind my desk there is a bay window with a copper roof. It is one of my favorite things because when it rains the sound is comforting and almost hypnotic. The slow steady rhythm of the rain drops are a music all its own. Neither Aaron Copland nor Samuel Barber has ever written anything so comforting. If I listen carefully past the gentle sounds of blood moving through my ears I can hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the next room. Time moves on. My black dog occasionally stirs beside me and she sighs. I’m sure she wants to go for a walk, later after the rain.
Sometimes when we have guests there is this social compulsion to fill the silence with talk of family and things. My best friends sometimes come and don’t talk. They listen to the silence with me. It is a bonding time so much stronger than catching up on the marvelous, wondrous, magnificent deeds of our perfect grandchildren as good as that is. In the quiet this evening my eyes have fallen on a life sketch of one of my professors. He was my homiletics teacher. He was harsh on me. In class he would stop me and make me go back to the typewriter. He never tolerated any theatrics. I look forward to someday telling him how much I appreciated his no-nonsense approach.
If we turn off the merciless, endless streams of media from Verizon and Comcast we can actually think our own thoughts instead of letting others fill our brains with their biases which if listened to long enough become ours. Best of all in the stillness one can begin to hear that still small voice that wants to fill us with love and care.
Written by Roger Bothwell on July 25, 2013
Spring of Life, PO Box 124, St. Helena, CA 94574
Rogerbothwell.org