Between the Notes

Hi all,

It's a GORgeous day in California, and I'm feeling all happy because I've already showered, eaten breakfast, and gone to class. And it's only 9:30. I like being up early ... I just hate the actual getting up process. I'm reaching the end of the week ... my last week of classes. Next week is final exams, and then ... a week of rest. Yay! I can hardly wait. The amount of writing I'm supposed to do between now and next Friday makes me want to eat chocolate, run for the hills, scream really loudly, and sleep ... all at once. But, I think I'm gonna try to just not freak out and do what I can do instead.

I came to this little house on campus that has been set aside by the school for students. It's got couches and tables, a kitchen, study nooks, reading lamps, windows. It's really lovely. Many times during the day, it is full of a cacophony of voices, and usually, multiple languages as well. But it's still early by university standards. And people are -- for the most part -- either sleeping or in class. (We got out early). So ... it is still. Silent. The only sounds I can hear are a few bird songs, planes flying over head, and the rustling of leaves in the breeze outside the window if I try really hard. It's heavenly.

I'm a music fanatic. And much of the day, if I'm not around people, I'm listening to music. But today, when I sat down, as I was about to put in my earphones, a little thought ran through my mind, "Sit in the quiet; soak it up." There is something so healing about silence ... as long as you don't get too much of it. It's like the breath between words, a filling up again. I heard a musician speak one time about music, what it meant to her. And she emphasized that giving voice to the silence between the notes was equally as important to the beauty of the piece as the notes themselves. It's the dance between the two that makes the music. And it struck me then, and still does now, how much of life is a dance. A balance. A maneuvering of the yin and yang of it all.

So, on this day, I wish for you a moment (or two) of silence. A breath. A filling up. I wish for you the dance.