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Seven AM, Christmas Day! Still dark and almost disconcertingly quiet.
It is one of the remarkable things about Christmas morning here. The world is stilled and for a few brief hours we get a glimpse of what it was like before the motor car - the infernal, internal combustion engine.
SILENCE! Just for a little while, the only sounds are natural ones and the effect is eerie and majestic. One gets a sense of the limitless universe and the utter insignificance of the transitory living thing that uniquely inhabits this tiny but intimate zone.
The silence of a Christmas morning is wholly consonant with the idea of the supernatural and our conceptions of it; trying to make sense of nature - of our nature, contradictory and flawed, disconsolate yet cheerful and optimistic against all odds. This is the paradox of living, thinking and feeling - of human sentience and sensibility.
Enveloping silence gives it context and perspective. It is the quietness of the great void, the emptiness of the cosmos, so silent there is a ringing in the ears, the perceptive pounding of the miraculous pump at the heart of things, beating out time in the human breast, to the music of the spheres.
Immutable time, that in a great wave or waves bears us aloft, carries us in and out, puts us together and breaks us apart. The eternal process of creation and dissolution, winding up and running down, moulding something separate and distinct before dissolving it again into its indistinguishable atomic parts.
We see our physical bodies, replicable, recognisable by ourselves and others, in but not of it, like an aircraft cruising at thirty thousand feet, connected but strangely disembodied - the man in the machine, the eye in me, the consciousness of being. So it is the internal life of the emotions that dominate, resonating with the outer spheres, in short how we feel.
An absence of feeling, or 'empathy', for other humans and animals, is in fact a psychological disease, that always has bad results. "Do unto others as you would be done by", is the basis of all morality. Or in the words of Jesus of Nazareth: "Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
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Oh the manic madness of Christmas, the human response to the darkest hour, the shortest day, the brightest star, the failings of the flesh. How we long to excel, to transcend, to achieve perfection and contentment, an assumption to eternal bliss by whatever means, to be content, to cease struggle and relax into the arms of the ineffable?
"Silent night. Holy night. All was still. All was bright." Be aware of the silence NOW. It is a key-hole into the infinite. Our salvation is at hand in the silence; in the bleating of a lamb; in the hot condensing breath of the beast; in an infant's cry.
"The eye in me."
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Ross Cowan That’s Beautiful mate , just gorgeous 💕
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