silence

While on the road Althea has developed a real attachment to our bootleg copy of, “Life is Beautiful.” She now greets us with “Bonjiorno Principesa”— sparing no exception for Josh. After three or four viewings she eagerly recites her favorite scenes (like the “The breaks are out! The breaks are out!), and she knows all of the answers to Dr. Lessings riddles. My favorite is, “What ceases to exist when you utter its name?” The answer: Silence.

Silent we have been for quite some time. The reasons for our brief blogging sabbatical are multivaried, intertwined and complex. But it occurs to me now that in some strange way they may all convalesce at the point of silence. The gentle towering of ancient volcanoes, the passage of clouds over their dormant craters, the fisherman dropping a single line into crystalline waters, the first light of sun passing over a mountain ridge, and the absence of highway murmurs and aviatory rumblings--all of these punctuate our existence and ease the inner chatter of busy thoughts. There is a grounding beauty to be found in sensory depravation. Over the past month we’ve had time to focus on the calm space that exists between thoughts. Perhaps the quietude of reflection temporarily suspended the loquacious flow of descriptive verbiage.

Although Lago Atitlan has entranced us with her tranquil splendor we are also gripped by a silence more complete and more encapsulating--the silence of loss. Because we were not able to give a proper goodbye, we’d like to dedicate these words (inadequate as they may be) to our dear friend, Noah, who left this earthly existence only a few weeks ago.

Noah, if you were still here in this world, in these confines of heartbeats and sunsets I don’t think I would dedicate a blog to you. We’ve set a precedent of focusing on our little journey and the introspections that accompany it. But now that you transcend the cosmic limits of time and space I feel compelled to communicate a few words to and about you. As I think of you I picture your calm gaze, I feel the assurance of your half-smile and I sense the warmth that radiated from the paunch of your belly. “How’s Althea?” You would often ask me or “What’s Jon up to these days?” Remember when we used to chat about your art courses at George Mason. One of the first times I met you, you showed me some prints that you made. I remember thinking that you didn’t fit at all the egotistical stereotype of an artist. I like that you regularly arrived early to our Tucker Ave parties. Your presence was always a familiar one, and I never felt like you needed to be impressed or entertained. Noah, since the moment of your passing I haven’t gone a day or even a few hours without thinking about you and your family. You are quite lucky to have been a Seidenberg. Your family has a genuine and forthright way with people, and in your home I always felt accepted and welcomed. I am blessed to have seen you all together at your brother’s wedding. The struggles that were confronting you at the time I am not intimately familiar with, but I wish I could have offered you some comfort. You were always quiet, but now your silence in the form of absence is profound. The mysterious path that you travel confounds me. It is my hope that by transcending time and space there is relief for you and a gaining of new wisdom. Your passing reveals to me that all of our striving and efforts to define human accomplishment pale in comparison to your journey. I think now that you must be free and am comforted by the fact that your physical body returns to the renewing vibrations of this planet. And in all of us who knew you the essence of your existence resonates. In these moments replete with sadness I’m grateful for the close group of friends that you helped to create. You embodied the rare qualities that define our Falls Church community--genuineness, acceptance and loyalty (and not to mention quirkiness). Noah, even though you are no longer bound by the earthly confines of heartbeats and sunsets we send you our love, the same transcending love that you shared so willingly with all of us. To your family we send prayers of healing and comfort.

Thank you Noah for the good times that you gave us while you were here and for the eternal lessons that you impress upon us at your passing. We love you and we miss you. With words and in silence we honor you.