I am drawn to the quiet, the deep quiet that
can sometimes reside in me no matter whether I am surrounded by the noise of a car alarm or
the music of a bird song. When I am in balance, they both can be quiet. When I listen with focused, attentive ears, they both reflect the maturing day, awake with
possibility. Both noise and music shine at their birth-moments with echoes of newness.
I feel this paradoxical newness nowhere more powerfully than in the reflections that I see every day. Seeing their inversion, I am required to shift out of my normal ways of working with what's in front of me. So I am more likely to notice the detail - it may always have been there, but in this situation I have more resources to pay attention to it. And when I can be both easy and attentive, if I allow my thinking to move out of comfortable categories, I realize that many of my major constructs fall apart - as I look, I must go down to go up and and I can confuse figure and ground, object and reflection. It is a dance, a game of vision transcending sight.