One Small Miracle in a Day of Noise
A lovely afternoon but full of noise. Reading after dinner--snatches from the Dhammapada--I thought of this clear sky and how it must be like Mexican sky.
And now, noise everywhere. Hammers all over the roof of the east wing--the buzz saw cutting hickory for the smokehouses. Novices kicking pigs. A huge road-grader sent by the politicians, roaring up and down significantly on the day before elections. ("Get out the vote," says the Abbot. "Show them that we have power!")
Sick of writing, sick of letters, sick of self-expression.
Silence and solitude and peace.
Even if everything else is noise, I can be silent within my own house.
Read a little about the Indians who make lacquer at Patzcuaro. The Night of All Souls is a great night on the Island of Juntzio (Sibylle Akers's photographs of the Indian women sitting with candles on the graves, with food).
Hurray! The buzz saw has broken down!
November 2, 1959, III.338-39
Sometimes the biggest noise is within.
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