Dial "1" for Silence
Sometimes I go through spots of time where I don't really have that much to say, or, at least, I don't know what to say. All I know is it will come back and there's nothing to worry about. Only it makes me a horrible friend to others. I hate chit-chat and lose more friends over this stupid thing called conversation. Do we really have to call each other every day? I'm fine, I hope you're fine. Debates are more my style, but who the hell wants to debate religion and politics with their friends? No one. Not smart people at least. Wait, I think I just incriminated myself.
I wrote a song about this once, "You . . . you know I . . . hate to talk for nothing. I'm . . . as silent as the moon." Hey, that was a pretty cool song I wrote.
But conversation, what is this incessant need to talk? It certainly hasn't been a gift for me. I spent way too many hours alone as a child sitting in front of the record player watching it spin, dreaming, dreaming. I had no one to talk to. And now . . . even if there was, I wouldn't know what to say.
Anyway, the birds sing, the crickets chirp, they're all speaking but they're not really saying anything. They are vibing, joining in a rhythm. They are recording and repeating. They are buzzing and building and breathing. They aren't speaking, not really. The locusts outside have been humming all summer and the hotter it gets, the louder they hum. I'd like to hum. Or I could rub my hot, August legs together like a cricket and squeak out a signal, "Come over here, I'm lonely." But that might scare people away.
Night is silent. Night is beautiful. I like night and the stars with their soft glowing light so far away. I could be night, and it would all make sense.
But until then . . . I just listen. I listen to the silence. And it is golden.