Greetings, and welcome to Musing Interruptus.  Today I offer two choices, they are both a little far out there. Bear with me. One, listen to my words in a traditional way and share your thoughts with me. Which I love. Two. Let this just be sounds and background noise. Similar to when you let your eyes relax out of focus; relax your auditory perception. Tune me out. Either way, welcome, and thank you for listening.
Certain situations in life invite us to turn off the receptive areas in our mind and body. Life’s constant hum can be tiresome. Hum hum hum. Like a machine that is constantly on. The sound comes from the friction of its parts. The pitch of the hum, the volume, the intensity. They all have an effect on us. That, which is happening outside and is received by our core, can be pollution or nutritious energy. Fundamentally that is what it is. Energy. That is how I explain the feeling I have when I look around my neck of the woods or go to the forest. There is a quiet quality to these spaces.
This is a recent discovery for me. I am content to not be invaded by the sounds of the city. I used to need city noises. By George, I had those noises in spades. Grunting trucks and buses that exhale loudly, bellowing for attention. They are spinning their wheels, rushing towards a fainting couch. Interesting how the fainting couch is a cousin of the divan. In both cases, there is a loss and regaining of consciousness. The buses where I used to live will never achieve consciousness… they are so unaware of the havoc they are responsible for in the city. I remember listing the requirement of city sounds to fall asleep. The absence of bustle made me uneasy. Was it an addiction to the creation of neurosis or naming the malaise… needing the malaise? I couldn’t tell you any more than a patient could during open-heart surgery or a passenger on a plane who is asleep. Consciousness is best attained over a soft couch. Running into reality without that comfort can be a nuisance. Speaking of such, a sharp desire led me to live in a place of quiet… hush sounds and pleasantries. The constant hum may or may not be there. On the other hand, being alone with my thoughts is a welcome novelty. Those are the inner sounds. Sometimes soft and others towering symphonies. Symphonies… well… something.
Quiet solitude soothes the soul and provides the space to be who one is, without the struggles and noise that distract attention from what is most important. The construction of life, and more specifically, life on our terms. I admire those who work on higher and more visible planes, who practice a political life and shape power relations. Something is obviously not right, as the hum of injustice is strident as ever. There is a time to be in the thick of it.  There are people who have the constitution to endure those processes. Agents of change. Changers of strident hums of the world. Then again, there are people who take on smaller parts, who work to enact change elsewhere, in quiet places, people who prefer anonymity. They are no less relevant, just less visible. They change the hum as well. They just don’t have very good PR. ...

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