Being silent

Being silent

All day I’m running around and doing stuff. The more I do the more difficult it gets to stop. Living a life in my head. And then at a certain point I feel it. I feel that I have been doing too much. My head is full. It is heavy as if it sucked up all its surroundings as a sponge, and now it is overloaded. The only thing to do is the empty it again. Spilling out all the water and knowledge it has acquired and starting from scratch. Again, with a clear and light head, excited and ready to start the day again. I know it requires one simple fact: silence.

 “I see it being torn apart as if someone insides desperately wants to get out”

I sit down in front of my stove. Two cushions of the couch underneath me. Music turned off. I know it is time to be silent again. Sunday morning. In front of me a black pot is sitting in the oven. A dough is slowly rising and transforming into a freshly baked bread. I see it being torn apart at the top as if someone insides desperately wants to get out. The fresh and strong smell of bread penetrates my nose and fills the rooms around me. 

I put my hands together on my lap. I feel the world around me starting to creep ing in. The head surrenders and rests for a moment. The surrounding is now of interest. The fridge humming away to keep the inside nicely chilled. The oven making its pitching and cracking sound to keep the interior hot. The ventilation above making a hissing sound trying to suck away the air of the room. And then my breathing. I feel my heart beating up and down in my chest. The pulse remarkably felt in my strangled fingers resting on my lap. The muscle of my inner thigh protesting a bit, remembering the yoga and fitness hours of yesterday. I just am. I feel the silent is coming down on me, giving me energy. Inspiration is bubbling up from deep down together with happiness. It is time to write an article.

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