The last few months have been loud. Not intending to be outdone by car horns and lightning strikes, emotions have screamed demanding to be heard like parliamentarians on a warpath. They came all at once like children adamantly refusing to raise their hands before speaking. When their demands were not appeased, they went on screaming. There was not a moment of respite in the deluge that was life.
The loud came in many forms. It came in the form of tears and screams and sobs and cries. It came from stories of desperation and heartache. It came from painful memories and hopelessness. It came from friends and students, neighbors and strangers. It came from loved ones about lost ones. It flooded the world and bled it dry.
I’ve been in need of a quiet place.
The desert certainly was quiet. Despite the heat, a sense of tranquility that was unmatched in the ordinariness of daily life dominated those solitary adventures. Until the spirits started screaming. Then the desert lost its serenity and shed its protective cloak. Something about seeing and unseeing and impossibility. Recently those emotions returned. The feelings of the desert that brought the heat and the ghosts stirred the soul once more. State violence in broad daylight. Narratives crafted in fantasy. The past never keeps gone I suppose.
I had to find a quiet place.
My refuge, the ocean, is still quiet. Gratitude prevails. Spirits seem less likely to intervene amidst tropical waves and turtles patiently sharing their home. Even among waves carrying the sounds of distant languages as tourists have escaped their native winters, the ocean kept its tranquil promise. The waves crashed absentmindedly drowning the loudness. I’m not sure why exactly. Why do emotions and thoughts quiet down underwater? Is it just mine?