... in silence.

Noise. Too much noise. In every cranny and avenue. Auditory, visual, mental, and every other form. Too much to bear. Too much to ignore.

• Where to start?
• Can we feel it?
• Where does silence leave us?

— Too much. #recognize

On Tuesday this week, a message came at 3 am announcing another death in the family. This time it was a father of two young adults. Too soon death came as a surprise. Too much to be said but nothing came out.

We learn too many things in life, but some areas are beyond learning. And probably that is ok.

Sometimes, the interpreter freezes. It crashes and shuts down. And silence reigns. It takes us by surprise and preparation doesn’t change a thing.

We carry on and so does life. And somehow in those moments, everything becomes noise — the good, the bad, all of it. So long as the interpreter is shut nothing comes through.

We are left with a cacophony of feelings, thoughts, and many more that sit in us not knowing where and how to resolve. Funny enough it is never the same either. No pattern or roadmap to follow.

— Muted. #understand

Friday came and it was not but a few seconds into joining a call with a friend and we barely had said the pleasantries of how are you and she said these days you sound “muted”.

huh.

I said you are right. But muted she labeled it. Wow. I could not have expressed it myself any better. Too many things going on I followed as a justification.

But regardless of the Whys I was begging to take the blame, muted I was and the worst part, it was visible. It wasn’t that I didn’t notice but more so how strong the feeling was in exactly those words expressing it.

The lack of sound was no longer a state of being but a feeling. We worry about the noise. We deal in overwhelm and too much of this and that. Yet, while it is overbearing and too much sometimes the noise becomes mute.

— A nightmare. #accept

In the waking hours where noise thrives, lush is the mind in its feelings. Waking up every morning with a promise of a dream to realize who we are, we pause in silence to the death of the memory of what unfolded through a night’s sleep.

For dreams are rarely remembered and on the rare occasion we wake up to them, they are nightmares — such is the way of the world, a horrifying experience when we remember it, and a magical wonderland when we don’t.

And in between the horror and the magic, silence lives as a bridge. It carries us through the vastness of the interpreter’s malfunction. And in that, there is some solace. So while it is hard to notice, pay heed to the loud call of silence for it is not to be ignored.

A brilliant mind wielding a pen for poetry and speeches like no other left us. I will always remember his dirty jokes thrown just at the right moment with a flare and whimsy carrying the room in innocent laughter every single time. You will be missed.

Until next time,
Carlo