Chapter Eleven

Extending my reach into the icy, snow-caped mountains, I extracted the sweetness and brilliance of pure silence. This was a silence that I have not long remembered. It was the true silence. The deafening whiteness that surrounded my pupils and eardrums; zen filling in the void. When I saw it, sparkling and shining through the radiant sunlight, I gasped, and then smiled brightly. The clouds hung low over my head and shot cold, white flakes upon my brow. I breathed in deep and realized just then that there was something so peculiar about this place. This silence was remarkably reminiscent of the silence I craved, and somehow it was all in good measure. The silence no longer meant a decaying, lifeless disembodiment. No, it was something so much more than that. It transcended any emotion, even lifelessness itself.

I watched on in awe for hours, staring out at the vast and jagged rock. I climbed higher and higher until my ears popped and the deafening silence took control over my body. Just days prior I had been trapped below the surface of the Earth and was helplessly suffocating in my own deficiencies. Now I stand at the top of a mountain, looking down at the minuscule attributes of life below. They seem tiny and unfortunate. So frail and docile.

If I were to scream, shout and kick, there would be none to calm my tantrum; I would be reduced to the ashes of my own scorched soul, and then would be filtered through the wind and snow. Trapped inside my own delusional tunnels I sense very similar conditions, yet notice a few distinctly different attributes. When placed under the ground, buried deep within my own tunnel, I have no need to scream out nor look at the people above me. I am meditative and contemplative. I yearn for nothing but the darkness and decayed. Yet, somehow the silence overpowers everything, and leaves me entirely bewildered. For as I try to yell out to humanity below, and the universe above, I find myself at a loss of words and vocal quality. My throat tightens and I clench my fists. I cannot force a single phrase. I am left with this deep want to call out, yet have nothing to say. And, if I did happen to utter my thoughts aloud, perhaps I would be horribly misunderstood or simply hushed by the pending storms.

If you listen quietly in the silence your can hear a stinging resonance. The tonal quality and intonation reflect nothing of human or animal distinction. It is Nature who sings a sweet lullaby in the silence. In the snow, as it falls, one can hear the crackling sound and light buzz that is aroused from each snowflake. The whole unites a choir that brings beauty to my ears. Sounds of Amadeus and Mozart fill my soul, illuminating my very breath. I look around and see the music in the air. It bounces off the rock, hits the trees and then resonates off branches.

Each breath is measured and exact; full and precise. I breathe in deep, letting the snowy crystals cool the back of my throat. As I swallow I feel as though I may freeze and crack, bursting my bits throughout the mountains, scattering shards of my body throughout the cosmos.

If Space persisted on Earth, I feel that it would take form in the mountains. Each star and universe are a mountain apart, and just upon a summit reached, one can look across at the infinite cluster around, staring in wonder. When on the ground, looking up toward the mountains, they appear vast and unfathomable. To understand each shape and identity is an impossible feat, but when looking at each individually one can see the splendid differences and a multitude of facets.

This thought brought me back to a remarkable conclusion. I used to be afraid of looking up at the stars; they all seemed misunderstood and separate from life. I found myself wanting to banish the stars, for I knew not anything of them, and may never find a clue. But here, in the snowy backdrop behind me, listening to the flakes flutter around my ears, and looking on in awe at the jagged rocks, I find that I am now at peace to look in amazement of the stars.

For, if I try to step outside of sea level, and transcend to greater heights, I may begin to understand the differences of the individual and no longer classify whole bounds of matter as identical. Each and every molecule is complex in its own form and exists, so therefore I must respect them and acknowledge its’ presence with the upmost affection.

Chapter Twelve

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