“I've begun to realize that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its own.” ~ Chaim Potok, The Chosen
Smoke twists and churns from a fluted chimney across the wooden fence like hand shadows entertaining a child. I’m mesmerized watching this dance of shadow play as my mind escapes into innocence, away from reminders, dates, and traumatic anniversaries… I’m well aware, some days carry a heavier weight than others. Chasms which at any given moment open up one self to heartbreak and gnat infested nitpicking introverted despondency. Not today. Ambience distorts the smoke shadow silence into a dance for an audience of one and I’m easily entertained.
Nine years doesn’t seem like much time, yet exactly three thousand, two hundred, and eighty five days have come and gone in an incandescent time suck. Days passed in idyllic disorientation without the calls of wildlife, birds, laughter, music, and so on into the depths of what passes for mute in a world devoid of sound. And on one singular day of each of those forlorn years I misplace my belief and dare to ponder a miracle. January 8th - a day in which I crave a wild debauched desire for nothing more than to wish away a nightmare; a nightmarish realism I can’t escape, as if the fates would bestow a magical cure proclaiming, “Enough sweet child, for you have paid your dues in full.”
To quote the Eurhythmics’ song, Sweet Dreams Are Made of This:
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something.
Oh, I disagreed for years. I guess, some part of me still does, but time distorts things, giving my victim terminology a strange perception. Could be human nature for all I know, pushing the whole, ‘I can overcome any obstacle’ to survive mentality. Some days that thinking is a joke and others awe inspiring, carrying a rootless spirituality that leaves you the sole worshiper. Three thousand, two hundred, and eighty five days later I’m not the same person shouting from the rooftops about how unfair my life is. My views have canted toward a very different outlook.
So what does nine years get me? Serenity. There is no right or wrong way of thinking in my situation, it’s not even about acceptance, but choices. I could let the world dictate my value or I could name my own price. My deafness is a priceless experience. True, I spend more time in my own head than most people do in a lifetime. These days, I can’t think of a better place to be. I’m comfortable in my own skin and forever inspired by the journey I’ve undertaken. The silence is so loud…you should listen in some time.