I’m in a different place. It’s on the edge of town, and nothing seems to be moving. There are no other people here. The trees are as still as the empty streets. There is no sound. Not the buzzing in my ears nor the beat of my heart. I notice that there is only one building in the area, which looks like a large white cube with a couple of windows. The rest of the area is indistinct, as is the time of day. The structure is not alive in the sense that buildings are alive; its accumulated history of its construction and usage. I feel that disorienting sensation of encountering something new and foreign. I hesitate to give this experience a name. I do not try to understand it.

Instead, I sit down on a boulder that looks like it’s part of a monument, and I wait. Wait for what? I don’t know. Maybe a sign, maybe a gesture, an insight or a revelation. Maybe for something to happen.

I sit and just wait. I notice that the waiting is peaceful, calming. I don’t expect anything to happen, and I don’t mentally chase after anything. Being in this place of silence and stillness is enough, and I feel absorbed by the simplicity of being here. I don’t want anything else and surrender.

Then something happens. It’s almost imperceptible, but the building slowly comes alive. It still looks the same – a large white cube – but it becomes more than a large white cube. I do not know what. It continues to be a mystery to me, but it’s no longer devoid of historic qualities. I do not probe any further. Instead, I find joy in the process of waiting, enjoy the stillness of the place, and the payoff of my patience. I come to the realization that everything – trees, rocks, streets, clouds, buildings, creatures big and small are all alive with their accumulated history, and in silence does this aliveness reveal itself.