Aren’t You Even A Little Bit Tired Of Your Inner Voice?
They ebb and flow like the incessant cackle of a disturbing radio, occasionally interspersed with a melody or a harmonious string of good news.
More often than not though, it’s all the atrocious happenings of life that blare out of that radio station, all the social and individual failings that we tut and shake our heads at. The music, it’s just a distraction, sheer entertainment such that we might anaesthetise ourselves awhile.
It is not to be. The sound is constant. The decibels reverberating in our being like waves of energetic news flow, amalgamating to produce a cacophony of jaw-clenching noise.
Can you hear it?
There it is. That voice, the inner one, that talks to you all day long, smug in its opinion, harsh in its criticism, and oh-so-judgmental of other people.
Are you tired yet? Aren’t you even a little bit tired of all the noise?
“Stop!” you say, and yet, like a petulant child, the more you urge it to stop, the more audible its protests seem to become.
In truth (whatever we might make that word mean), there is nothing to overcome, to beat down, to forcefully quieten.
Be observant for a while. Of everything. Of that inner dialogue that runs on well-oiled ideas of the past, on the osmotic social conditioning that has found its way under your skin, on all that has ever existed.
For nothing is truly yours, uniquely borne of nothing, it all comes from the great void of which everything is born.
Watch it then, listen, observe, get really curious. Once I see that none of it is mine, that this noise runs on the borrowed ideas of society or just how much it has to say, about everything… it quietens. Without me yanking hard on the volume control. It. Just. Quietens.
And at other times it does not. And that is okay too, for control is a function of the mind. The only thing that seeks to control the mind is the mind. Though when it comes to you, you’re not interested in the mind’s latest games.
Your infiniteness is unperturbed, un-impacted by any of the drumrolls or cymbal-clanging of the world.
Your truth is to be found in the silent spaces between the words — the white spaces in between each letter of this type-font, the small breaths between spoken words, the gaps of light that seep in before your eyes open in the morning.
For you to hear the noise of your inner and outer worlds, there must be silence into which that noise occurs, must there not?
So shh, listen.