It was early, her favorite time of the day. Stillness was all around, and all she could hear were the sounds of silence: the songs of the birds, the gentle lapping of still waters, and the occasional splashes made by fish jumping in the canal. And she could hear sound of her breath, the gentle in, out, in, out that connected her to all of this life around her. Nothing was felt in her bones but peace.
Out of no where, roaring sounds began booming through the silence as a plane flew overhead, scattering the stillness, so much like the pain of fibromyalgia or the uncertainty of her new friend’s own private pain. The noise deafened overhead, yet she heard still…the birds’ songs, the gentle lapping of the still water, the occasional splashes made by the jumping fish in the canal, even the sound of her own breathing, gently in and out. The noise of the plane began to fade as quiet came once more.
Everything has a beginning, a middle, and an end. She remembered Deborah’s powerful vibrato. She breathed, “May our songs still be heard above the noisy distractions of FM and PD. Amen.”
(Dedicated to my friend and fellow Yogi, Deborah Ramirez, truly a big heart)
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