In Silence

In Silence ©

By

Michael Casey

I was wondering what to talk about as I had some Cranberry juice, it’s good for my kidneys, when in the silence I thought why not talk about silence. I normally have music on as I read on the Internet, but I just switched off the sound for a bit of quiet when I decided I could always talk about Silence. I was going to say I could listen to Simon and Garfunkle’s the Sound of Silence but the phone just rang. It was my sister so the silence was shattered while we had a catch up.

Silence is a change from noise, if you are at work in heat and noise its always good to escape to the park during your lunch break. In my print room days at Pinsent Masons I’d escape to Saint Phillips cathedral. I used to stand all day in a very hot print room. So for lunch I sit by the candles in the cathedral, the vergers thought I was Holy but just some peace and quiet and no standing was what I was really after. Ok, maybe a bit of prayer, and one of the best pieces of writing ever bubbled up while I was there. I’ll insert it below the I’ll get back to today’s theme.

Let There Be Light ©

By Michael Casey

Let my tears be my words

Let the candle light be my eyes

Let the flowers in bloom be my lips

Let their scent be my blood

Let the wind be my breath

Let clouds be my mood

Let children’s laughter be my hope

Let widows’ sighs be my conscience

Let a stranger’s prayers be my delight

Let the bees be my wisdom

Let the trees be my strength

Let my patience reach to the stars

Let me be always remembered in your prayers

Ok, no need to be impressed, I wish I could just print it on Tshirts and make enough money to buy a house with it. So from the house of God, to Michael’s family house via poetry. Ok, I’ll just get the Monopoly board out and win a house that way.

One time I saw a bodybuilder lighting candles and praying, I was touched and impressed. He could have been a Russian called Lav, but here in the cathedral he was a humble servant. Maybe Putin should follow his example, but I digress.

When we are up to no good we are silent and sneaky, trying not to get found out. Pretending to pray when really we are going to steal the poor box. In my hotel days where I was a spare man I suppose, I also did a bit of security for Taz and Phil. This means I watch people and things, I always look at people’s hands to see if they are about to strike, I always look at number plates too. At the hotel if somebody had Love and Hate tats on his knuckles then they stood out, because it was a 4 star deluxe place. So obviously I’d watch them and report back on my dec phone. When it was silent in the foyer I’d be send to do the walk all over the hotel. It takes 25 mins to walk everywhere with the bleeper, you put the bleeper over the wall mounted nipples and it made a noise and recorded where and when you did the security patrol. Sometimes it was totally quiet on the walk but on other days you’d get to talk to all the staff and guests, so it was a nice experience, as if I owned the hotel.

Now I own nothing except my arthritis and my other ailments. But in the still of the night I can look up at the stars and wonder why are we all here. Are we here to make noise, because God was so lonely in space and time, so Mankind is his Radio, or Spotify. We make lots of noise when we are happy, when we are drunk, when we have sex, or maybe that’s just some of my neighbours. But what is the first thing we do to a baby, we slap it and say, Make some Noise.

So Noise and Silence are the Ying and the Yang, the heads and the tails of the coin that we call life. When collecting the tin is shaken to make noise to encourage more donations. When the band plays we scream and shout and dance in the street, like at Puck Fair in Killorglin in County Kerry. Once a band is famous no matter where they started they want seclusion and quiet, with high walls and security guards. Then they party too hard and overdose and end up having total seclusion and high walls, inside a cemetery.

Then there is a minute’s silence for the departed, before everybody leaves to bitch about them at the after funeral party. Nobody can say a good word for the dead, envy and jealous. Perhaps just silence would have been the best thing, as Les Dawson used to say Be Nice, and if you cannot say anything good say nothing, be silent.

So Percy the the Undertaker walks away from the grave, he has a poem to share.

                 The Dead and The Living (c)

                           by

           

                     Michael  Casey

     I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old ,my father said  not

  

     to worry as the dead are the same as the living ,  only the  laughter

  

     has left them ,  the sparkle has gone from their eyes , the worry has

  

     been lifted from their shoulders ,  and their voice has vanished  to

  

     eternity .

     In  paradise the sparkle will return for it is the  twinkle  of  the

  

     stars , the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and

  

     the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter .

     

     I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living,

  

     though I find the deceased are always more polite .  My father also

  

     had a few words to say about the living .

     He said that the living are only the caretakers of the  soul  ,  yet

  

     they think their existence is everything , that they know everything

  

      because they experience many things with their senses .

      What the living don't acknowledge is that their time is  short  and

  

      when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls  continue  without

  

      them ,  without their strong ,  without their weak ,  without  their

  

      beautiful or even ugly temporary form , to where I cannot say , only

  

      that it is a better place .

  

      Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin ,the soul was free

                          THE  BEGINNING