Peace of mind and clarity can be mighty hard to come by these days. Half of the time I have a tendency to suspect they’re things I once had access to or even owned in small quantities but somehow misplaced. Don’t mind me, I’ll be crawling around here on hands and knees with my compatriots. If we look like we’re hunting for lost contact lenses while not actually awake, you might well be right.
Among the herds and hordes that clamor for attention undeserved,
Some few remain that will not yammer but sit back, demure, reserved—
Odd, in the cacophony of wild, attention-grabbing rush,
That what finally wins from me my focused notice is mere hush—
The effect of surfeit, excess, ultimately in the riot
Of the maelstrom, is what checks us in our racing: simple quiet—
So I seek the silent moment, empty spaces, basic form
Of absent noise and crush and foment, then go back to face the storm.