Monday, January 16, 2012

Quiet Time

In the quiet times of the morning commute: the asthmatic hum of my Altima's engine, the whooshing of the cars driving by in the passing lane, the crackly bass of the carelessly chosen playlist, the hour with my first thoughts in the morning, unblemished by the days' events that have yet to unfold. 

In the quiet times of the slowly settling sleep: the muffled intonation of Adventures in Odyssey, the regular breathing of my dreaming sisters, the unattributed creaking in the rafters and bedframe and trees, the waning time of my last thoughts of the day, laying to rest in order all the events of the day.

And for the times in between? 

While I am not altogether fond of Gertrude Stein in general, there is a sliver of attributed wisdom when she says, "It takes a lot of time to be a genius, you have to sit around so much doing nothing, really doing nothing." Quiet time is grossly underrated.

The times in between can get awfully crowded. Which is not altogether bad; I've been the recipient of many moments bursting full and I wouldn't trade them for a week by the Lighthouse shut up with my thoughts. Still, I am not particularly skilled at keeping track of my thoughts in the midst of the busyness. Like mischievous monkeys my thinking capacities run off and hide, or irritate me with clanging cymbals in my ears. I was never a huge fan of monkeys. Or very good at keeping tabs on my thoughts. 

But as he thinks so he is . . .

What does it mean to take every thought captive? What is concentration? How do I "think upon these things"? I am not yet skilled enough to focus my heart in the ebb and flow of the tasks of the day. And so I am so thankful for quiet time. These heaven-sent opportunities to dwell on truth, to refresh my mind, to strengthen my soul for these times in between. Rest is so sweet.

You're the scent of an unfound bloom—a simple tune, I only write variations to soothe the mood. A drink that will knock me down to the floor, a key that will unlock the door where I hear a voice sing familiar themes, then beckons me weave notes in between . . . This is my call, I belong to You! This is my call to sing the melodies of You! This is my call, I can do nothing else.

1 comment:

Caitriona aka Catherine said...

Two thumbs up Miss Hayley!!!!!!!!!!