Tag: Sleep

Saturday Morning

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Silence can also be a friend. A comfort and a source of deeper riches. In The Silence That Follows, the poet Rolf Jacobsen wrote:

The silence that lives in the grass
on the underside of each blade
and in the blue space between the stones.

The silence that rests like a young bird in your palms. It is easy to see oneself in Rolf Jacobsen’s experience. Alone out on the ocean, you can hear the water; in the forest, a babbling brook or else branches swaying in the wind; on the mountain, tiny movements between stones and moss. These are times when silence is reassuring. I look for that within myself.

— Erling Kagge, Silence: In the Age of Noise

 

Notes: Photo by Chris Jones with Blades of Grass.  Prior Erling Kagge posts here.

Weather.com: 34° / Feels like 24° F. Wind gusts 19 mph.

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Photo: anji (via Newthom)

Saturday Morning

Live & Learn28 Comments

The silence I have in mind may be found wherever you are, if you pay attention, inside your mind, and is without cost. You don’t have to go to Sri Lanka: you can experience it in your bathtub. — I discover silence when I stay five extra minutes in bed at home.

— Erling Kagge, Silence: In the Age of Noise

 

Notes: Photo.  Prior Erling Kagge posts here.

Walking Downtown. With Air to be reckoned with.

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Jenny Offill describes her mood…”she’s tired all the time now…she can feel how slow she is walking, as if the air itself is something to be reckoned with.” I read the passage a week ago. And Mind keeps flipping it back.

Sleep app congratulates me this morning on seven consecutive days of hitting sleep targets. Grooving a routine. And it’s working. I’m sleeping.

But, tired all the time.

Lower Manhattan this morning.

40+ F, but don’t get caught out without a coat.  Frigid winds blow through the tunnels between the hulking skyscrapers.

Colleagues take the subway to a client meeting: It’s only two stops!

I let them go. I need to walk. Shoulder stiff. Neck aches. Need to be alone.

A lifetime, swift walker. But not lately. Like a glider banking energy, I’m waiting for a tail wind, or even a gust.

Not my photo above, I couldn’t muster up my own shot.  I pause to watch the tourists take their shots with the Bull.  In all the years, this is the first time you’ve stopped (paused) to admire him. You are a beaut Mr. Bull.

Bullfighter or the Bull?  Red cape, the muleta. God Save the Bull.

Three minutes to destination.

I take a take breath and step into the building.

Game time.

 

Photo: Alexander Nilssen, Bull of Wall Street

Saturday Morning

Live & Learn29 Comments

One’s very own room, ventilated to please one’s self, furnished just as one wishes, with one’s pet belongings arranged to suit one’s own tastes; an entire bed in which one may pitch and toss, stretch and yawn, without the consciousness that another would-be sleeper is being annoyed – all of these are aids to happiness.

– Virginia Terhune Van de Water, “From Kitchen to Garret,” (Published in 1910)

Notes: Quote via Schonwieder. Photo via Sabon Home