The Absence of Movement

While driving yesterday I tried to make a right turn. This bus was in my way.

It wasn't much of a hindrance. The bus blocked the entrance to a street, sure, but I went around it. I briefly drove the Parkway, took the first right, and made it home. I was delayed a minute, maybe. The oddity of the situation was, and maybe you cannot tell from the picture, that the bus was entirely broken down. There was no driver, there were no passengers, and it was still.

Complete absence of motion. Serene stillness. I don't see those much anymore.

I work with video and social media. Twitter feeds that refresh every second, a constant stream of emails finding my inbox, and the ceaseless stimulation of video I've come to expect at all times. I have three screens in front of me. One is an iPad, one my laptop, one a monitor, and one of the three is always playing a video. I could be working on the video. It could be streaming on Netflix.

A moment when I cannot hear or see a moving car comes only when I am sleeping.

I sleep restlessly. My hands, shoulders, and neck protrude above my comforter. Mosquitoes nip at them. My dogs move around every hour. They gnaw on bones or jump into bed. I don't mind it, I feel rested, but in  my sleep I am not still.

Serenity may be in the mountains. From them I may stare down onto civilization while drifting through the natural world's creeping, placid hours.

Peace may be in the ruins of old civilizations that once sprinted but now lay still.

Maybe the paradise of calm is a mountain ruin like Machu Picchu.

No. While I do want to visit Machu Picchu and I do cherish my time in the mountains I live in a city. Speed, congestion, and movement are constants.

My primary weapons against this consistency are words.

I may write feverishly, or my writing may paced. More often I take the latter approach but either way I control it. I create characters that move how I like them too. I even make time.I make time slow and it combats the rapid pace of my surroundings.

In reading I find the same solace. Reading demands a reprieve from motion. Words are read at a reader's pace, sure, but a well constructed work of depth requires a reader's concentration. That concentration requires pause for thought. That concentration requires one to forgo their surroundings and, for a moment at least, be still.