I've been on a concentrated quest in the last few weeks and really for the last many months of trying to find some way of finding more balance and a sense of peace. I've been trolling bookstore shelves for self-help books, and meditation manuals. I've amped up my exercise regiment so that at least I can fall asleep at night even though I will likely wake long before dawn and toss and turn all night. I've sought out podcasts and video talks to bolster my days. I have listened to this particular episode of the On Being podcast with Sylvia Boorstein three times now and hope some of the lessons sink in. Maybe you're feeling the same way? Maybe this will help you too?
At the end of the episode she reads this Pablo Neruda poem. It's the poem I just need right now.
"Keeping Quiet" by Pablo Neruda
Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fisherman in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.
—from Extravagaria (translated by Alastair Reid, pp. 27-29, 1974)
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