It has been 17 days since my last post. 408 hours. In all this time, nothing has happened that I felt the need to share. I did feel, several times, that I should post something. I questioned whether I had lost the impulse to continue with this year of mindfulness blog. There were 2 occasions where I sat at the computer ready to write, but as I sat there, in the broody silence, I realized I had nothing to say. So, instead of writing something shallow and unmindful, I opted for silence. It felt right.

It is important to me that this blog is as mindful as everything else we've committed to. It's so easy to get sidetrack, to gloss over moments, to fall into old habits. So I promise myself that I will only post when it feels true.

I think silence is my favorite companion. It's always in the same mood that I am in. It envelopes me like a second skin, but it doesn't crowd me. It feels like velvet.

I grew to love silence living in Meacham; this oasis of vast prairie fields and intermittent sounds.

When the boys were little, Angus used to go up to La Ronge to teach at NORTEP. He would be gone for a week at a time. I would drop the boys off at school, and I would come back to a quiet empty house. It was very hard at first. My family and friends, you know, those who have know you forever, were so far away. I felt adrift.

One particular day, I decided to sooth my heart by painting the ceiling in my bedroom. I wanted to create something; to put my mark on it. The ceiling is made up of 1 foot square acoustic tiles; you know, the kind you find in old schools. I started painting them in a checkered pattern of brown and red. I painted each tile with a roller, and then I went back and painted the cracks in between with a small brush. The window was open a crack, and I could hear the occasional bird song out in the yard, or wheels on gravel moving down the road. It was very peaceful.

As I worked, I thought about my boys, what they were doing, how their day was going. I thought about Angus being up in La Ronge, and in the silence, I noticed that I could "hear" him. I stopped painting, brush in mid air, and closed my eyes. He sounded soft. I listened for the boys, and there they were. I could feel their bright energy. Their sound vibrated around me. It felt like the heat whooshing up your legs as you stand on a furnace register. So warm...

To this day, when I'm alone, silence is my companion of choice.

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