Sometimes I find myself entirely alone. Perfectly Still. Simply listening to the silence. When this silence is as piercing as it often seems to be it does indeed require listening because it’s not just the absence of noise but the presence of silence, not just the obliteration of sound but the company of quiet. Sometimes it is so silent that I wonder if my ears are experiencing shock, being so immune to the presence of noises most people learn to ignore and most ears become accustomed to. Noises like the buzzing of a computer, the humming of the air whistling its way through the vents, the loud blinking of computer lights, nearly audible in their obnoxious nature, and the creaking of old walls and doors. These are sounds, sounds that we hardly process as sound at all. When they’re existence is bizarrely and momentarily dismissed, as part of some strange experiment it seems, or simply to fiddle with the mind of the observer, something creeps in, something that feels like emptiness but is fulfillment in disguise. It is in these moments that our souls develop the capacity to murmur and whisper their eloquently suppressed musings, in these moments that our spirits are freed and our enslaving bodies yield their beauty to the comfortable, safe, silence. I often wonder if it is simply my body that imprisons my soul. While my body is tattered, fatigued, and ragged, my soul is bright, searching for any opportunity to fill the empty space surrounding the worn frame of my physical body. The silence settles and it is in these times that a radiant soul dances out of its frayed, faded, prison; a dark room suddenly filled with light.