Silence

My humble beginnings or rather Solomon's.The winter of 1970, three nights of 40 below in the goat shed.


A gentle stillness settled over the house. The radio, refriderator and freezer ceased operation ending the subliminal hum and vibration of wood and glass in the structure of the house. With no wind or hordes of geese this morning, the only sound is the occasional "ticking" of the woodstove as the heated molecules expand or contract. I hear the droan of Clark's truck down the drive and up the hill leaving utter silence.

Exellent atmosphere for meditation!

I still indulge on many occasions, after the stress of the job or peering out from under the heap of paper work on my desk, in the fantasy of going back to the basics of chop wood, haul water and kerosene lamplight like in the old days when I was a hippy in Ojo Sarco, New Mexico. In the evenings instead of watching TV I would be sitting on my porch in a rocking chair with a corncob pipe smoking kinnickinick.
But until the rural electric company announced that we would be without electricity from 8:30am until 6:30pm, I hadn't noticed how compromised my lifestyle has become.

First things first, get up early to take a shower for work tonight, brew coffee for the day and put hot water in the thermos to warm it up. Last night to get a head start we put up a gallon of drinking water, the canning kettle for hot water on the woodstove (Thank the gods for that luxury!), two 5 gallon buckets with water for the toilet. No well house pump, hot water heater, electric cook stove, curling iron, microwave... Can't listen to the tapes or CD's, radio, TV or blog on the computer. Late at night with the lights out I notice the blinking red and green lights of the wireless router, the surround sound terminal, the stereo, the DVD player, the VCR, the TV satillite tranceiver, surge protectors, the microwave and coffee maker; just a reminder that most of these electronic and electrical devices and the others have "simplified" my life. Why do I feel so confused drained of vitality?



Clark still chops wood and I haul gallons of water from the creek to water my house plants. Old habits and preferences die hard.

Guess I'll dive into that pile on my desk and work on my bookkeeping and taxes which I have not totally given over to the electronic computer brain. By the way, did I mention the benefit we gained from the electric company's day long cutting away of menacing trees from the power lines?



The new wood pile!


Text © 2004 Mona E. Dunn