We campaigned. We lost. Today I went all around our congressional district, picking up any yard signs that hadn't already gotten picked off. Of more than 900 signs out there, probably less than 100 are still in existence. I only found about a dozen this morning, but the three plus hours driving gave me plenty of time to pray, think, and even sing. It was tempting to just pop on the radio and let my mind be lazy--but wouldn't you know it--someone messed with my radio and I couldn't get the station I wanted. Wish I could say that not turning it on was my first choice of options. But even so--my second, third and fourth options turned out to be best.
Our lives are so full of noise. Voices clamouring, like fish mongers at market, trying to get us to buy their ideas. And a lot of those ideas are smelly, old, or would be unhealthy for us.
I love silence. I'd rather turn off the music than turn it on. I don't have anything against music--it's just that there is music in my head that will get drowned out. OK. So maybe it's not music. Maybe it's poetry though. But too often it isn't even that. It's an argument! And because my opponent can't answer back, I'm winning! And I'm brilliant, invincible, and totally opinionated. Oh, the things I could say, if I could just get in a word. If I could just control my opponent's arguments by anticipating what they will say and having just the right repartee with which to annihilate their paltry points. I would be so condescending, patronizing their pitiable efforts of debate with the great me. This silence isn't golden! It's bloated, and oozing green pus. Ego has totally taken over, belching out ridiculous claims to demonstrate it's superior intelligence and benevolence and justice.
And that's why today I didn't start with my thoughts, but with someone else's. The great me's locomotive got derailed, to let a handcar silently pump its way through my brain. I got some mental exercise, some quiet, and a restoration of hope.