Idyll Shrugged
Hurling In Sacred Space
There may be a city of millions out there beyond that window—but today the universe absorbs the sound. The gentle hum of ambient tone transformed by cochlea to tranquility of the mind. Children at play resonating from across many courtyards, and the mourning doves—spiritual messengers of peace and love—co-ooing on the fire escape.
I am adrift in an annointed type of silence—mystical, perfect.
My eyes moved along the lines of print. Alice Munro is telling me about how Murray met Barbara at Zeigler’s Department Store in the town of Walley.
I take a sip of the warm cider I prepared for myself—dash of cinnamon—and the chime of the cup against saucer rings like a Tibetan bell.
The curtains are moving gently from the breeze coming in through the window—a whisper of cloth as they rub gently against the leaves of the rubber plant.
Even the occasional bursts of energy that arise in the the Hindemith string quartet can’t seduce me away from the words I am reading. Barbara and Murry now have children and Victor and Beatrice are over for dinner and Barbara’s earring fell off and landed in the applesauce.
And then this entrancing zone of time I am within—this blend of sound perfumes and…
