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I'm sitting here along the Maas river that flows through Maastricht. I haven't a clue where it has been or where it goes. Just now I saw a sign 'A2' (a highway in Nederland) and it surprised me - does it really so easily connect to Leerdam, the place where for now my house resides?
Wings of pigeons sweep across. I hear their gargling gurgle of content whilst behind me trees clap their hands in the wind. The wind waves from right to left, the soothing sounds calm my heart in some way. There are leaves and sticks and garbage that rustle the surface of the stairs on which I've found my seat. Across the water carillions in both or all the churches and cathedrals mark the hour, whilst busses, taxis and other motorized vehicles buzz across the bridges on either side.
Around me are many others - basking in the sunshine and conversing with one another. A car honks - probably, in its path crosses a pedestrian. The women who were so near me walk away - along their journey - their steps fade. The dog on the dock barks again - it seems to alert its owner of other passing by. A rustle, gurgle, bubble on my left comes closer. ‘Scheldevallei’ with many flags at the bow and a tour guide at the stern honks, loud and boisterous. Waves increase as the ship speeds up. It turns, just round the boulders that support the bridge and then there comes another. And another. Sirens cross to the other side of the river, and veer left. I see a captain - his tie fluttering in the wind and faintly can detect human voices numbed by the sounds of engines…
[ Wilhelmina. Bridge to my right. I just saw her. Named after a lady who reigned for some time, was head of state and perhaps most powerful and rich in her days. She's gone now. Just her name in many a place and marking history's page.
How different the ordinary - the lay and peasant - are, none like royalty or bourgeoisie. And yet. Their names all fade… their memories pass as people do… the pain perhaps a generation and maybe two… and then it's gone. Forgotten. But in the present the pain so real. The ache so vivid. The tears so hole. The water rolling down my cheeks more days than not. I'm okay with it. Embrace the emotions yet hate them at the same time. Not an ounce understands - yet I know it is good. Somewhere head knowledge transcends what lies within me, can rationalize what my heart doesn't want to accept. I know it is well - even though no part of me comprehends. Which for now is okay. ]
With all the sounds I hear, I have likely not said more than 100 words today. Living in silence amidst all the noise. I entered a chapel some hours ago. The silence. The awe. The solitude. A longing for still. For peace. For calm in my heart, my soul, my life, my whole. A longing for stillness and something other than the busy. Something other than constant connection and FOMO. Going here alone was a sporadic but good decision. To be good with exploring and not sharing. To be cool with going places and bit getting input from all. It's cool to experience a certain peace in that. Mind you, I'd love to share…
I entered the chapel. A place where peace lives. Where silence is expected, known, common sense. What other places besides places of worship or cemetery do people hush upon entry? How, in all the bustle of this life, can we cease our voices and calm in the face it the place? How come there we can, while in other moments we automatically increase the volume, fill the void with voice and tune, look for connection with whoever is around…?
What is it in the sanctuary that satisfies in us? What is it that calms us? Perhaps we all long for calm, still, disconnect. Long for peace. Long for rest.
Whether we can create it, I don't know. But we can choose the stillness. Can find places where our souls can come to grips with what's happening - can take time to be still.
A song suddenly comes to mind:
Take time to he holy, be one with the Lord.
And:
Vrede, Heer, geef vrede…
(Peace, Lord, give peace)
Stil, mijn ziel wees stil en wees niet bang
(Silent, my soul be silent and be not afraid)
Voor de onzekerheid van morgen
(For the uncertainty of tomorrow)
And:
Comfort, comfort (Isaiah 40:1)
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