Noise

In The New Yorker this week
   there's a short piece about Michael Holleran,
      "the only Carthusian living in New York City."
Carthusian monks usually live in silent monasteries,
   shut off from the world.
They obey a rule that calls for no speaking,
   except for emergencies, while chanting in worship,
      and for a few hours of quiet conversation on Mondays.
Father Holleran left the cloistered life after nineteen years
   because he "wanted to catch up with the modern world."
Here is the point I am getting to:
   he reported that the noise of New York City life
      did not bother him.
"The battle," he said, "is in defeating the noise inside you."
His truth is my truth.
Doing something about the noise inside me takes work,
   real work.
Often I don't do this work well,
   and the noise ricochets inside my head.
It's not a pretty sound.
I do wish, however, to take slight issue
   with the Carthusian father on one point.
I don't believe that defeating the noise within,
   as if in militant combat,
      is the only way to proceed.
I believe that sometimes the racket within
   can fade quite noticeably,
      and even drop away altogether,
   without there having to be a battle to overcome it.
I believe an invitation to let the noise go
   can also be effective.
It's true: the noise doesn't always disappear
   when that invitation is sounded.
But many, many times it does
   when I intentionally, lovingly, slowly,
      and, yes, quietly,
         spend time in fertile places
   with my camera resting lightly in my hands
      while it touches gently my forehead and my nose.
And my soul.

Silence

The fruit of silence is tranquility.
Arabic proverb

Silence most often surrounds me as I photograph.
I’m thinking now of kneeling in front of
   a bed of gently swirling poppies,
      waiting for them to come to rest.
I’m thinking of standing beside
   a glassy pond at sunrise,
       unsure where earth and sky parted,
         and not needing to know.
I’m remembering planting myself on a stone outcropping
   as the sun opened the Grand Canyon below me,
      knowing that words would only diminish
         what was unfolding in front of my eyes.
Such silence is not intentionally practiced.
It is just the result
   of becoming attuned to that which is around,
      of becoming present to that which lies before.
The resulting photographs are a product of that silence,
   and equally they help produce that silence,
      both in that moment and later moments.
I cannot explain this.
I only know it happens.

Openings

Perhaps they are not stars,
but rather openings in heaven
where the love of our lost ones pours through
and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.
Eskimo proverb

On this Easter morning
   this proverb speaks to me
      with great hope.

Simple

Is!
Parmenides

The mystical Greek philosopher
   who lived and worked in 5th century Italy
      could not have stated his wonder any more simply.
In English his entire statement is made up
   of a vowel, a consonant, and an exclamation point.
My interpretation is this:
Time is!
The universe is!
This solar system is!
Our earth is!
This life is!
This moment is!
When we are aware in our aliveness,
   and alive in our awareness,
      then each of these statements deserves,
         even more, requires,
            an exclamation point.