Let It Noise

I was walking in a field, listening to the birds as they sung their evening song to the falling light emanating from the sinking sun. In those moments, the sounds of the birds drowned out all of my sorrows, bringing me to a tranquil state of mind, no dreams. And then I slowly became aware of an approaching plane overhead. I remember that this field is near an airport. A plane is coming in to land, and the noise of it begins drowning out the sound of the birds. Now what can I do in such a moment? Should I get upset or mad at the plane? Should I rage at it, wage war against planes, try and have them banished? Should I focus on remembering the sound of the birds from a few minutes ago? Should I try and love the sound of the plane like I love the sound of the birds? Let it noise? Love its noise? Let it pass? Should I focus on the future when the plane will land and the sound of the birds will be audible once again? I’m not really sure of a complete answer, but it seems that this little incident represents so many of life’s struggles in miniature.

A Red Sweater

I was driving down a busy shopping boulevard. Stopped at a light, I glanced over to my right, through a department store door, with wool sweaters displayed on a table in the center. One of these sweaters was a beautiful red color. I was transfixed by it, caught up in its red, a color searing itself to my eyes and in my mind. I started to imagine myself wearing it, perhaps over a black dress shirt, with a matching red and black tie, black slacks, and black dress shoes; very smart. This image burned itself into my mind, and I made up my mind to go to this store and buy the sweater at some point. Weeks later I made my way to the store; I made it to the entrance, walked though, and went right towards the table with the sweaters, eager for the red. But as I approached I began to notice that the sweater was not in fact red. The sweater I saw was actually pink. I began looking for a red sweater in other parts of the store. I asked a clerk about red sweaters. He said, “No red sweaters.” I realized the red I saw was made so on that particular day by the angle of the light from the time of day and the position of my view from the street. I left the store empty handed, but still with a red sweater stuck in my mind; a red sweater that didn’t even exist. And I wondered how much of the rest of my life is like this; chasing illusions in my mind?

The Incessant Me

I was out walking and caught a premonition of the past; something triggered a memory of a time spent in another somewhere. I knew that this time was a difficult one in my life; filled with confusion, anger, sadness, regret, worry, anxiety; a time I would describe to someone, had they asked about it, as dark. And yet this triggering felt good. The memories it brought up were wonderful, even intoxicating. It seemed the time I spent there was magical. I couldn’t help but feel good in thinking back to it despite believing it was such a dark time. How could this be? Was there a part of me living at that time that was keeping track of all the good moments? Was it wise enough to see the wisdom that comes from suffering, from learning from hardship? Is it smart enough to know now that it was worth it? Did it know this then? Of course I knew my whole time there was not one big hell, but was this part of me less in touch with the temporary, closer to the lasting? Am I delusional about the past, longing for it because the present is too real? Was I delusional then for focusing almost exclusively on the pain and suffering? Is there a constant “me” able to see things objectively, one free from my own mind? Is there a part of me always at peace, that knows better in each and every instant despite what I think I see and know?