Tonight, I'm sitting on the floor in my room with a glass of wine next to me and my space heater blowing directly onto my chilled legs. I don't want to move, don't want to make noise, don't want to be seen. I feel the need to just be -something that's seemed difficult to achieve, lately.
In the portion of Annie D I was reading tonight she used the phrase "sonant and surd" to describe a winter wind: "sounding without voice" is a much less poetic translation. "Sonant and surd" could describe my soul, tonight: making itself felt, but without clear articulation. It's moments like this that make me wish I meditated regularly. I think I could hear my own heart better if I did. Since it hasn't been my habit, quiet and stillness are more elusive pursuits. Still, I have now, I want both of those things and this, like any other, is a moment of choice.
