The Story of the Silent Voice
…Hello? Can you hear me?
What accent do I have? I sound like Adele, don't I? Do I sound good? Would you listen to the sound of my voice or would you change it to a softer, gentler one? Maybe you would also change the pace of my words and make me speak a little faster. Maybe you are in a rush to be captivated by something that would distract you from what is actually in front of you. You may need to take your mind off something and chose to read this.
You chose to listen to my voice, to give me a sound in the realm of your mind. Is this the voice that you hear when you speak or the one you hear when you think? I wouldn't think so.
By now you should already hear a monotonous voice, like an old lonely grandmother, or stay at home mother or a lonely child. The type that people don't usually listen to anymore. The ones that speak to much without saying anything. Their stories are just accounts of their simple existence, and its details burden the listeners with the heaviness of their boredom that tastes like stale bread and smells like a room that was closed for too long. The boredom of coexisting with an existential crisis that did not find its way out of the lonely man's life. Hours and hours of thinking and thinking and thinking and thikning and thinking in solitude. They tame even the most adventurous souls, leaving just the insignificant details to be shared. They are the only ones that have not been touched by the splashes of the internal storm. They are the purest gift that one has to give. The accounts of a meal. How yesterday the cat ate a little less and today she might eat a little more. The price of the vegetables bought from the market and the time they woke up in the morning.
There is no wisdom in these words. No apparent meaning beyond the gentle, quiet voices. They might just be the symbol of patience, of resilience and of strength. Just like the gray pebbles in a river, gray hair and a blanket of clouds, they exist to bring calm and stability to an otherwise chaotic and frantic life where words flight out before being listened to and never find their way between anybody`s ears. What would happen if we listened to the lonely? what would happen if we actually gave them a voice by listening to them?
Maybe sometime, somewhere, someone would find out how the old granny had a secret love affair in her 20`s, and her voice would become hushed as she rushed to recount her little adventure. Maybe we would find out about the exciting life of the animals around the house which the child has been observing with such detail and passion for days on end. Or maybe you`ll just find a friend. Someone to be there for a while, to feel safe with. To feel loved. Eventually to sit there in silence with and truly listen to a silent voice.
Isn`t that what we all want?
