tiring of words

Tiring of words

I begin to hear the poetry of existence

I had been reading a lot: books, news articles, current affairs, philosophy, politics. And then I noticed: I had grown tired of all these words. It seems that there are an infinite number of them – spoken, written, and, of course, thought. And I had grown tired of all of these, my own thoughts included.

So I switched off my tablet. I closed my book. And I sat. And instead of thinking, I simply listened, listened to existence.

And it struck me that I was listening to poetry, wordless poetry. I was listening to a song, a song without words. In the sounds of the birds and the horses walking past; in the distant chatter of people; in the feel of the sun on my skin; and the way the ever so gentle breeze was swaying the grasses in a dance.

And if I really feel myself into this poetry-song-dance of existence, I can sense that I, too, am being sung. I, too, like these grasses, are being danced.

It is not that I am dancing. and yet I am part of the dance, inseparable from it. Even if I wished to be separated from it, such separation would be impossible.

And I sense a gratitude, a gratitude within me, for this poem-song-dance that I find myself part of. And a gratitude that I grew tired of words.

Ah, yes. Yes. Yes.