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Sound
Sound
“Abbey?”
“Mhmm.”
“It’s unusual seeing you sitting out here alone, what’s up?”
“Oh, I was listening.”
“Ok, why?”
“I was with Linda.”
“That doesn’t explain much, but some.”
“I try not to take life for granted you know?”
“Where’s this going?”
“In the space of an hour, she’d heard sounds, that we (I) obviously take for granted. I’m not sure how she does it, but she does.”
“Give me a for instance.”
“For instance, while we were sitting together on the park bench, she identified at least a dozen different voices, all children playing together. Not only did she identify the various nuances in the voices, some were happy, others dramatic, some quiet but she explained feelings to go along with what she heard. One child while talking had a depth of sadness that as a sighted person I could discern, but I found it incredible that Linda could tell the depth of her unhappiness. She was right. The little girl was sitting on the sidelines, wanted to play but was smaller than the others and couldn’t keep up. She stopped running and trying. There was such a dejectedness about her that it startled me. It was also touching that (I guess it was her sister) ran back, grabbed her hand and tugged her along with the others chasing after a kite.”
“Linda described the entire scene and I don’t know how she knew there was a kite, because it was high in the sky, I didn’t notice any sound associated with it. A man and his wife were racing around and the children in the park were so delighted they joined in, which the couple didn’t seem to mind, but invited.”
“So this got you to where you are now?”
Opening her eyes, Sienna continued, “I realized that even though I can see and obviously hear, I have been rushing through life, I needed to take a moment to connect again, with all the sounds I hear which are so precious and which add so much to any experience.”
“Were, are you feeling sad for Linda then?”
“On the contrary. I realized that she hears and absorbs far more in the space of a few minutes than I do in hours.”
“First, you don’t take much for granted. Secondly, it’s always good to touch base and appreciate what we have.”
“I have to write an essay for the professor so I decided the subject would be about appreciation, hearing in particular and to do that, I need to take time to listen, really listen to what I hear and describe it in colours and nuances.”
“Sounds like a winner to me.”
“I thought I’d interview Linda as part of the thesis, describing the difference between us, not all blind people, just us.”
Forgiveness
I was wondering and decided to include everyone in my wanderlust to see what your thoughts are on the subject.
Have you noticed there are many who expect forgiveness for things said and done, as though it’s their right? While others cannot forgive themselves for slight errors much less weighty ones? It made me ask, is it a matter of conscience, some have one, others don’t?
Personally, I find small hurts or slights and unintentional wounds easy to forgive. But what of the other “stuff” the huge life changing grievences perpetrated upon our person? How do we get to forgiveness with those?
I’ve witnessed through news reports, parents, husbands and wifes, mothers and fathers forgiving a perpetrator (too harsh a word?). One of many examples, a drunk driver who had taken the life of another. Although grieving, achingly so, I watched a video taken in a court room of a mother and father forgiving a young man who’d taken their very young daughter from them. In an astounding act of the ultimate in digging deep past the hurt anger and pain, they wrapped the young man in their arms as he sobbed uncontrollably.
I had to wonder whether I had it in me to reach that depth of forgiveness and understanding. I suppose it would depend on the how and why of the situation and whether carelessness played a part, whether it was a premeditated act, or truly accidental.
As I’ve aged, gracefully or not, this question continues to haunt me. They say letting go and forgiving is a healing to you and in no way negates the acts the perpetrator has committed. I often wonder.
Covert Novelist 