City of Blinding Lights
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There is no such thing as True Silence.
Even when we are locked in a black room there are always sounds, we are constantly followed by the rhythmic, controlled and predictable sound of our breathing. True Silence is a far off ideal for musicians and spiritual seekers who desire to find their peace of mind.
The only thing that comes close to True Silence is the hushed and awed quiet in a church.
The low hum of priest swinging their incense urns murmuring Latin chants long forgotten to anybody but them, the low dim mutter of hopeful and thankful prayers, the still flicker of candles and tea lights, all merge into one holy tone, a calm and sincere note that calmly and gracefully fades up into the air in the hope to reach the ear of the Divine being which some people call, God. It is an almost perfect, true silence.
It was this holy and comforting almost silence into which a girl just turned 18 hurtled with the loud clatter of expensive brown Prada boots, the banging of the large lead and wooden church doors, the jangling of her thick silver bracelets on her tanned right arm and a whirlwind of designer scents.
Somewhere between the entrée and the main dish at an expensive Italian restaurant in Munich, Audrey Jacqueline Tateman had an identity crisis.
Almost in tears she demanded to know from her startled best friend, who was sat opposite her with her fork halfway to her mouth, where the next church was.
Fabienne Anderson was surprised and baffled by best friends sudden desire to jump and answer the beckoning call of the great above. She had know Audrey since kindergarten and when she had to move back to Germany from Dallas she invited Audrey to spend her summer holidays with her in Munich, where her father and mother ran a spa hotel. Things had been much the same with Audrey as they always were but her sudden religious need was something that had dropped out from the blue. The holiday plan had been far from spiritual and the only kind of divine enlightenment Audrey had during her first week was that Prada made far better boots than Dior.
Once having received the name of a church close at hand Audrey dropped her silver fork on the white linen tablecloth and was out of the glass sliding doors like a lightening blot. She hurtled down the busy streets of Munich, pushing past disgruntled English and Japanese tourists until she finally reached her destination.
As she threw the massive gothic church doors open the voice of her grandmother flooded into her head.
"If you loose yourself, the dear Lord will find you."
Audrey scoffed loudly, as she was far from religious, preferring to spend her Sundays sleeping off her party hangover from the night before. However her dear grandmother had been right on more than one vital occasion; thus it was best to take her advice.
She marched through the doors, the gust of wind that followed her blew her long ash blonde hair into her face and caused her designer perfume to waft into the church, clashing with the smell of burning incense.
By old and forceful habit, having been forced to go to church until saw was 13, Audrey plunged her hand into the stone bowel, which held the holy water, and with haste Audrey crossed herself. She could do with all the help that she could get.
Once covered in holy water, Audrey stormed past all the dazed tourists and reproachful locals, to the main row of pews before the roped off altar where she sank down on her knees in a flurry of designer names and her signature perfume, her jewellery jangling loudly proclaiming its worth. She ignored all the stunned faces of the people around her, who were all unsure of how to react to such a young and polished girl and her reaction to the call of God, when she was blatantly one of those people who just did not belong in a church.
However the 'call of God' was not valid in Audrey's case. It was simply an impulse, which she allowed her conscience to indulge in.
The humble and uncomfortable position in which Audrey found herself in was unusual and unpractised, and she could not help but think of the little good that her kneeling was doing to her Calvin Klein jeans.
Unsure of what to do next Audrey shot low glances either side of her and saw thoughtful people kneeling down, their eyes shut, their hands clasped in front of them and a content smile on their peaceful and blissful faces, which were marked by age and understanding.
So following the general pattern Audrey shut her eyes, clasped her hands and waited.
Even when we are locked in a black room there are always sounds, we are constantly followed by the rhythmic, controlled and predictable sound of our breathing. True Silence is a far off ideal for musicians and spiritual seekers who desire to find their peace of mind.
The only thing that comes close to True Silence is the hushed and awed quiet in a church.
The low hum of priest swinging their incense urns murmuring Latin chants long forgotten to anybody but them, the low dim mutter of hopeful and thankful prayers, the still flicker of candles and tea lights, all merge into one holy tone, a calm and sincere note that calmly and gracefully fades up into the air in the hope to reach the ear of the Divine being which some people call, God. It is an almost perfect, true silence.
It was this holy and comforting almost silence into which a girl just turned 18 hurtled with the loud clatter of expensive brown Prada boots, the banging of the large lead and wooden church doors, the jangling of her thick silver bracelets on her tanned right arm and a whirlwind of designer scents.
Somewhere between the entrée and the main dish at an expensive Italian restaurant in Munich, Audrey Jacqueline Tateman had an identity crisis.
Almost in tears she demanded to know from her startled best friend, who was sat opposite her with her fork halfway to her mouth, where the next church was.
Fabienne Anderson was surprised and baffled by best friends sudden desire to jump and answer the beckoning call of the great above. She had know Audrey since kindergarten and when she had to move back to Germany from Dallas she invited Audrey to spend her summer holidays with her in Munich, where her father and mother ran a spa hotel. Things had been much the same with Audrey as they always were but her sudden religious need was something that had dropped out from the blue. The holiday plan had been far from spiritual and the only kind of divine enlightenment Audrey had during her first week was that Prada made far better boots than Dior.
Once having received the name of a church close at hand Audrey dropped her silver fork on the white linen tablecloth and was out of the glass sliding doors like a lightening blot. She hurtled down the busy streets of Munich, pushing past disgruntled English and Japanese tourists until she finally reached her destination.
As she threw the massive gothic church doors open the voice of her grandmother flooded into her head.
"If you loose yourself, the dear Lord will find you."
Audrey scoffed loudly, as she was far from religious, preferring to spend her Sundays sleeping off her party hangover from the night before. However her dear grandmother had been right on more than one vital occasion; thus it was best to take her advice.
She marched through the doors, the gust of wind that followed her blew her long ash blonde hair into her face and caused her designer perfume to waft into the church, clashing with the smell of burning incense.
By old and forceful habit, having been forced to go to church until saw was 13, Audrey plunged her hand into the stone bowel, which held the holy water, and with haste Audrey crossed herself. She could do with all the help that she could get.
Once covered in holy water, Audrey stormed past all the dazed tourists and reproachful locals, to the main row of pews before the roped off altar where she sank down on her knees in a flurry of designer names and her signature perfume, her jewellery jangling loudly proclaiming its worth. She ignored all the stunned faces of the people around her, who were all unsure of how to react to such a young and polished girl and her reaction to the call of God, when she was blatantly one of those people who just did not belong in a church.
However the 'call of God' was not valid in Audrey's case. It was simply an impulse, which she allowed her conscience to indulge in.
The humble and uncomfortable position in which Audrey found herself in was unusual and unpractised, and she could not help but think of the little good that her kneeling was doing to her Calvin Klein jeans.
Unsure of what to do next Audrey shot low glances either side of her and saw thoughtful people kneeling down, their eyes shut, their hands clasped in front of them and a content smile on their peaceful and blissful faces, which were marked by age and understanding.
So following the general pattern Audrey shut her eyes, clasped her hands and waited.
♠ ♠ ♠
So sue me. It's like an addiction.Let me know what you think. Comment, feedback but please be honest and do tell, don't just read and forget about it. I think you could like this one.
Kisses.