I am on my way home; I am on the train. I love riding the train. If I had the time, I would take a cross country trip on the train (with a sleeper reservation, of course).
My daughters cringe at the thought of riding any length of time on the train. “It takes too long,” they say. They are part of the microwave generation, born into a time when you can get from point A to B point without breaking a sweat.
People are in such a hurry these days. Rather than stop to smell the roses, we have screen savers that flash pictures of nature in realistic vibrancy at us before we connect with the world wide web.
In our quest to seize the moment in the moment, we have lost touch with a sense of sanctity and internal harmony. Because we are wired for “Go, go, go” all the time, we cannot even enjoy the gift of those unexpected moments when we have absolutely nothing to do. We rush to fill such voids with background white noise, as we search our digital calendars to make sure we are not being unproductive slugs.
I wish for every hurry scurry, making it happen all the time individual, the joy of genuine silence. A silence that embraces them in such a way that their soul is quieted and filled with a serenity beyond comprehension.
But this will require the patience of waiting and who has time for that?