All alone, the quiet stirring nothing. No sound, not even the distant cars on the highway. I enjoy the quiet when it comes to me. I am often to busy with something to notice it or in such a hurry to have noise around me. Maybe the noise reminds me that I don't have to alone. Yet alone I am inside myself where I do all my living. The outward product of myself is from the quiet place within me that is so hard for me to be with. It would explain, at times, why I feel so disjointed within life. My fear of the quiet is based on how I view what death will be like when it comes. I am like a child who is still scared of the dark. I have built my strength and character around the principle that I am worthy of life and I am not a waste of time and space. But deep within me when the quiet shows up the old fears of helplessness rise and have their say to me about how insignificant I am. I am insignificant, but because I respect life not because I fear death. It is something then for me to struggle with the quiet when all it really represents is an occasional moment of peace. The quiet is my friend now where before it was my enemy. The quiet stirs more than nothing, it stirs within me the thoughts about my perspective. A product of fear? Regardless, my contention that fear is a good thing seems to ring true when it comes to me conquering the messages the quiet used to bring.
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