Noise

Sometimes I wonder about all the noise of the world. The endless commentary, the arguments, the opinions, the explanations layered on top of everything. Turn on the news, open a book, listen to people talk long enough and you realize we live inside a constant stream of interpretation. Everyone explaining what things mean. Everyone choosing sides. This versus that. Right versus wrong. Us versus them. Saved versus lost. Truth versus lies.

The word versus seems to sit at the center of how we frame the world. Two sides facing off. A contest of ideas. A dividing line that says one thing must win and the other must lose.

But every now and then I get the sense that underneath all that… something much simpler is sitting there.

Just what is.

Before anyone explains it. Before anyone argues about it. Before the commentators arrive with their microphones and opinions.

A bird lands on a branch. Wind moves through the trees. Breath comes in and goes out. A thought appears in the mind. A feeling rises in the chest. For a brief moment it’s just happening.

Then almost instantly the editing begins.

The mind asks: what does this mean? Is this good or bad? What should I do about it? How does this affect me? Before long the simple moment becomes a story. A narrative. An interpretation layered on top of experience.

It appears this is how human beings make sense of the world. It’s how societies organize themselves. But the more we talk about things the thicker the layer of commentary becomes, until sometimes it feels like we’re no longer touching the thing itself — only the explanation of it.

And that explanation keeps multiplying.

Politics adds its version. Religion adds another. Science offers its models. Media amplifies the conflict between them. Everyone speaking with certainty while the actual moment quietly keeps unfolding underneath it all.

Occasionally the noise drops out for a second.

Maybe sitting quietly. Maybe walking alone. Maybe staring at the ocean or looking up at the night sky. For a moment the running commentary pauses and there’s just the simple fact of being here.

No argument.

No versus.

No need to win the point.

Just life happening.

Strangely enough, the moment we try to talk about it we’re right back in the noise again. Words are part of the editing process. Even this reflection is another layer added on top.

The raw moment itself never really lives inside the sentence. It lives just before the sentence forms.

Maybe that’s why every generation keeps circling back to the same question, using different language, different metaphors, different philosophies — all trying to point toward something that was already sitting there the whole time.

Underneath the noise.

Quietly being what it is.