I believe in the power of quietness. It allows me to hear little things like the ticking of a clock and the buzz of a fly. Quietness is when the party is over and I can hear the sound of tiny rain drops bursting on the roof; from upstairs in my room, I can hear the basement tap dripping and when I turn it off, I can almost hear the sound of air itself.
Many people don’t like quietness. They would prefer a guitar to a fly, a radio to a ticking clock, and a rock band to rain. They fill the world with sounds until quietness becomes a distant memory.
Though great speeches are made with noise, it is when the words stop flowing that the audience can really accept what has been said. When a tricky question has been asked, I listen not to the answer, but to the hesitation before the answer.
Quietness sat next to me in the waiting room when I knew I was about to get immunization shots. Quietness taunted me when my friend left without saying goodbye. Quietness pours down from the sky and drowns me in thick syrup of silence. Quietness shakes the tree when I am climbing. Quietness rocks my bed gently when I cannot fall asleep.
I need quietness. It has been with me during some of the worst moments of my life, and some of the best. Whether quietness is the cause or just an effect, it should not be swatted at like a fly in a kitchen.
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