There was nothing, nothing at all. What he had just told her had made the earth stop. The birds were no longer singing, the grass no longer swayed. There was nothing, nothing but stillness.
There is a stillness inside me. It hates to be moved. Even when it knows it should, it is fixed with spikes into its home. Until it’s finally forced to rip up its stakes, leaving a scarred ground, to move its pillars to a new area, where it takes up new ground again. This stillness will not leave, even if it is forced to move. I feel encased by these pillars like jail cells, I feel pierced like barbs holding me to the ground.
Evening. Before midnight. Lights dimmed. Lone lamp. Moon by the window. I remember a poem by P. Neruda, I’d like for you to be still. Stillness. Quiet. Calm.
The stillness in the room after the shots were fired made her chest ache. She knew she’d done the right thing; Sinclair was going to kill Sheriff Walters otherwise. But sweat still dotted Allie’s forehead, fear made her hands shake, and salty tears slid down her cheeks.
It felt like she had abandoned everything she had been taught: killing was killing, no matter who held the weapon, good man or bad.
“It’s okay, you’re okay,” A warm voice said in her ear, strong arms wrapping around her frame to prevent her from hitting the floor. A twinge of comfort washed over her, but dread covered it quickly. Once the train arrived in Denver, she’d be arrested for murder, no doubt.
“Allie.” She felt someone shaking her, and she slowly lifted her head to meet Father Sanchez’s face. The young preacher she’d seen many times while traveling, but had never gotten to know. “Allie, please stop crying. You did the right thing.”
If it weren’t for my stillness, we would have been caught by the beagle boys. The cartoon anachronisms crept across the cemetery with care. They were cautious to not step on any grave stones because they might hurt their feet.
we pop pills by the handful and nickname them strength
phones always in hand but wives kept at arm’s length
we swallow our thoughts; say we’re happy, at peace
run in fear from the heroes we call the police.
regurgitate text – this is called education
rationalize love as mere lustful temptation
sew our mouths and minds shut, this is how we mature
convince ourselves the poison is really the cure.
A moment without motion. Silence of activity. Nothingness. Devoid of actions. Quiet. Anything opposite of movement. Relaxed thoughts. The opposite of how I feel now.
Be it a person, place or thing, it is that near-unreachable something that always escapes you by just a whisper or a wink, something so subtle as to elude you barely, but completely.
In a riddle it lies tucked into soundlessness, quietness, a softness of body and bones at rest.
It is not, though. It cannot be.
Everything is always moving.
I could never describe the world as motionless, because it isn’t. Everything about it is always in constant motion, even the planet itself, as it rotates and revolves the way nature intended it to be. You and I were always in motion, you with your day’s work and me with mine. It wasn’t until we decided to come back to each other, that everything stopped making sense. It isn’t in that cliché manner, I can tell you that. It’s more like I still keep asking what made you decide to come back.
And for once in my life, despite the chaos, I felt like time stopped in moments where you were. Even until now, my hands freeze over the keyboard as I write this, as it dawned on me that time will still never make sense even when you’re not around.
Stillness. It is in the stars. In statues. In pictures, history frozen in time. It seems to be something static, something plain without substance, but in fact, it is much more. Stillness is stability. Stability itself fluctuates based on the economic, political, and social conditions of the globe.
There was a sense of stillness in the air. He stared, watching his breath fog out from between his lips. There was an ache in his chest that pounded deep. He wished he could escape into the stillness of the air around him.
He sat on one end of the sofa, and she sat on the other end. Both separated just by a space of distance. The stillness in the room made it awkward for both of the two people, as the clock made it’s ticking noises whilst the time passed by slowly. She was unsure of what to say to him, as the same for the boy.
To be completely absent of physical movement. You just sit there- mental stillness? not to be caught in the same circle of thought, not going anywhere, but perhaps meditation. To be focused on nothingness and happy about it.
In the quiet of the night I heard his voice. It melted on my ears like failing snow when the temperature is just a little too warm. A voice that comforted me into silence.
Pause. Check the air conditioner, the windows, the car door. Breath. Breath a little faster. Something’s wrong. The air unmoving, still and staunch. If standing you would be pacing, your feet scuffed across the floor. Push harder against the door. Feel sharp pain in your left side. Don’t look but you will anyway. Blood covers your blouse. A crimson bloom across the lacy fabric. You can’t place the source but you’re too afraid to check.
In the stillness of the aftermath, she could only hear her heart beating. Louder, and louder. Like some distant drum. Maybe it was calling her home. Maybe it was encouraging her to dance. She knelt on the ground and listened. Somewhere, high above, a bird sang out and she couldn’t tell if it was a cry of desperation or hope.
The stillness in the room was unsettling. Usually, Karla found herself greeted by her three-legged terrier, Trey, and — less enthusiastically — Buzzy the Cat. Clearly, something was very wrong.
Again on the subway. Hidden breezes tucked away in people’s moused hair, and underneath the flap of their great beige overcoats. There’s one in the text of that man’s newspaper, hiding underneath the captain BOY DIES IN TRAGIC APARTMENT FIRE.
You turn away sharply, inhaling. You’ve already seen that, and read the article. You feel no need to read it again, considering how personal it pricks into your heart. Your own dear mother died from a fire. You don’t want to relive it again.
Stillness beats in my chest. I am so sad. My heart has stopped with the sorrow that is deep within. There is no longer a thumping in my breast. It is as if my heart hurts so much that it dare not do much more than be still. I wonder, I wonder if it will never beat again. Never thump with excitement. Never pound with exertion.
You think
That in the stillness
You will find yourself.
Be calm, they say
Seek serenity
Meditate
But all you find
Is more of you
And the problems you can’t escape.
Its hard to move when your stuck in your mind
Trying to move forward while ignoring the chyme
The silent serenity that time once brought
Has now trapped me in this moment of paralyzing thought
I sit still as my mind continues on
Ideas flowing more mellifluously than a birds song
Once i can release what has been trapped inside
I will no longer fill the need to hide
The water sat there, a single stream of light shining through to create a still patter on the bottom of the pond. It looked like you could simply walk across it without a problem – it was so still, so flat, so solid. There was something beautiful about it, however hard it was to place. No one could forget a pond so still, so quiet, so serene.
im stil still, i dont want to look crazy, im just myself, fearless, but cautious, living life, looking for love, experimenting new senses and im STILL kinda lost! dont know hot to still STILLY, im always wondering, searching..
Is supposed to be beautiful. Stillness is the state of mind where everything is still. Where everything is clear. Where nothing exists amongst everything. When you look beyond everything. When you look behind everything. It’s the gap in between two thoughts that leaves you mind at peace and at ease. Stillness is nothing and everything.
The stillness in the air calmed him like the waters of a deep and beautiful ocean. He sat back for awhile on the white sand as the wind blew his emotions all around him. At that point, he had realized, it was over- and he could breathe once again.
Even in the stillness of the night, she felt uneasy. This task was extremely difficult and she wondered if offering herself to lead this team had been a bad idea from the beginning.
stillnes of the night was an errie quiet that perplexed my mind into a void of darkness and death that shrouded my ability to see anything beyond my minds eye. oh what a terrible existence this is. what to do next where to go
Stillness is odd. You would think it would be relaxing, but real stillness is kind of disturbing. It is the sound of death. Living things make noise, so when there is absolutely no noise, something is very wrong.
The room was full of stillness. It was the only way to describe it. With the windows closed, the only wind was my own breath, and even that barely made a whistle. With the door locked, no voices or footsteps echoed against the walls. When I sat down in my father’s easy chair, I expected the wood to creak and the pillows to exhale like they always had before he had died. But not even a puff of noise came, and my body sank somberly into the green mass as I stared at the silent ceiling fan.
I won’t say something about night or darkness or whichever bit’s the evil part of yin and yang but I’ll make due with saying something about how we just don’t converse any more. How even with the sun’s first arch smeared across the horizon we feel listless, still, gray in the pale light of daybreak. Legends and misunderstandings clutter the bed at our feet; the room is quiet and discontent. We are old now, too old for this certainly, but we fall into war like mute soldiers and wage in the stillness.
Like caught in mire, some trapped, some hearts beating manic under amber syrup paralysis. Me- my brows are furrowed beneath the ice- the final moving muscles in the face- be like the moth, be moth, wings spread never needing to create, just to feel the sun in the gold moon cracks of wing
Walking home from an uneventful day. Senior year, 2008. Letting that one song play on my headphones – the one that reminds me of the last scene in a movie where things look hopeful for the future, but there’s still a sadness to it. Everything was so quiet, and I took the moment to acknowledge the stillness. I still remember the way the wind blew that day…
with out movment
alone
silent
peacfull
a walk in the wood with none but the birds chirping
There was nothing, nothing at all. What he had just told her had made the earth stop. The birds were no longer singing, the grass no longer swayed. There was nothing, nothing but stillness.
There is a stillness inside me. It hates to be moved. Even when it knows it should, it is fixed with spikes into its home. Until it’s finally forced to rip up its stakes, leaving a scarred ground, to move its pillars to a new area, where it takes up new ground again. This stillness will not leave, even if it is forced to move. I feel encased by these pillars like jail cells, I feel pierced like barbs holding me to the ground.
Evening. Before midnight. Lights dimmed. Lone lamp. Moon by the window. I remember a poem by P. Neruda, I’d like for you to be still. Stillness. Quiet. Calm.
The stillness in the room after the shots were fired made her chest ache. She knew she’d done the right thing; Sinclair was going to kill Sheriff Walters otherwise. But sweat still dotted Allie’s forehead, fear made her hands shake, and salty tears slid down her cheeks.
It felt like she had abandoned everything she had been taught: killing was killing, no matter who held the weapon, good man or bad.
“It’s okay, you’re okay,” A warm voice said in her ear, strong arms wrapping around her frame to prevent her from hitting the floor. A twinge of comfort washed over her, but dread covered it quickly. Once the train arrived in Denver, she’d be arrested for murder, no doubt.
“Allie.” She felt someone shaking her, and she slowly lifted her head to meet Father Sanchez’s face. The young preacher she’d seen many times while traveling, but had never gotten to know. “Allie, please stop crying. You did the right thing.”
If it weren’t for my stillness, we would have been caught by the beagle boys. The cartoon anachronisms crept across the cemetery with care. They were cautious to not step on any grave stones because they might hurt their feet.
we pop pills by the handful and nickname them strength
phones always in hand but wives kept at arm’s length
we swallow our thoughts; say we’re happy, at peace
run in fear from the heroes we call the police.
regurgitate text – this is called education
rationalize love as mere lustful temptation
sew our mouths and minds shut, this is how we mature
convince ourselves the poison is really the cure.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the note I’d leave behind. Where I’d write the words till they stilled my mind.
A moment without motion. Silence of activity. Nothingness. Devoid of actions. Quiet. Anything opposite of movement. Relaxed thoughts. The opposite of how I feel now.
Be it a person, place or thing, it is that near-unreachable something that always escapes you by just a whisper or a wink, something so subtle as to elude you barely, but completely.
In a riddle it lies tucked into soundlessness, quietness, a softness of body and bones at rest.
It is not, though. It cannot be.
Everything is always moving.
Quiet. The hush sound. Sinking beneath the surface only to hear your heartbeat. Meditation.
we sit
in silence
with nothing but our words floating in the air
in our stilness
i can tell you still love me
i want you to know i love you too
I could never describe the world as motionless, because it isn’t. Everything about it is always in constant motion, even the planet itself, as it rotates and revolves the way nature intended it to be. You and I were always in motion, you with your day’s work and me with mine. It wasn’t until we decided to come back to each other, that everything stopped making sense. It isn’t in that cliché manner, I can tell you that. It’s more like I still keep asking what made you decide to come back.
And for once in my life, despite the chaos, I felt like time stopped in moments where you were. Even until now, my hands freeze over the keyboard as I write this, as it dawned on me that time will still never make sense even when you’re not around.
After a hectic day of nonstop activity, it was nice to settle down on a chair and do nothing. No thinking, no chores, just peace and quiet.
Stillness. It is in the stars. In statues. In pictures, history frozen in time. It seems to be something static, something plain without substance, but in fact, it is much more. Stillness is stability. Stability itself fluctuates based on the economic, political, and social conditions of the globe.
There was a sense of stillness in the air. He stared, watching his breath fog out from between his lips. There was an ache in his chest that pounded deep. He wished he could escape into the stillness of the air around him.
He sat on one end of the sofa, and she sat on the other end. Both separated just by a space of distance. The stillness in the room made it awkward for both of the two people, as the clock made it’s ticking noises whilst the time passed by slowly. She was unsure of what to say to him, as the same for the boy.
To be completely absent of physical movement. You just sit there- mental stillness? not to be caught in the same circle of thought, not going anywhere, but perhaps meditation. To be focused on nothingness and happy about it.
In the quiet of the night I heard his voice. It melted on my ears like failing snow when the temperature is just a little too warm. A voice that comforted me into silence.
Pause. Check the air conditioner, the windows, the car door. Breath. Breath a little faster. Something’s wrong. The air unmoving, still and staunch. If standing you would be pacing, your feet scuffed across the floor. Push harder against the door. Feel sharp pain in your left side. Don’t look but you will anyway. Blood covers your blouse. A crimson bloom across the lacy fabric. You can’t place the source but you’re too afraid to check.
In the stillness of the aftermath, she could only hear her heart beating. Louder, and louder. Like some distant drum. Maybe it was calling her home. Maybe it was encouraging her to dance. She knelt on the ground and listened. Somewhere, high above, a bird sang out and she couldn’t tell if it was a cry of desperation or hope.
The stillness in the room was unsettling. Usually, Karla found herself greeted by her three-legged terrier, Trey, and — less enthusiastically — Buzzy the Cat. Clearly, something was very wrong.
Again on the subway. Hidden breezes tucked away in people’s moused hair, and underneath the flap of their great beige overcoats. There’s one in the text of that man’s newspaper, hiding underneath the captain BOY DIES IN TRAGIC APARTMENT FIRE.
You turn away sharply, inhaling. You’ve already seen that, and read the article. You feel no need to read it again, considering how personal it pricks into your heart. Your own dear mother died from a fire. You don’t want to relive it again.
Stillness beats in my chest. I am so sad. My heart has stopped with the sorrow that is deep within. There is no longer a thumping in my breast. It is as if my heart hurts so much that it dare not do much more than be still. I wonder, I wonder if it will never beat again. Never thump with excitement. Never pound with exertion.
You think
That in the stillness
You will find yourself.
Be calm, they say
Seek serenity
Meditate
But all you find
Is more of you
And the problems you can’t escape.
Its hard to move when your stuck in your mind
Trying to move forward while ignoring the chyme
The silent serenity that time once brought
Has now trapped me in this moment of paralyzing thought
I sit still as my mind continues on
Ideas flowing more mellifluously than a birds song
Once i can release what has been trapped inside
I will no longer fill the need to hide
The water sat there, a single stream of light shining through to create a still patter on the bottom of the pond. It looked like you could simply walk across it without a problem – it was so still, so flat, so solid. There was something beautiful about it, however hard it was to place. No one could forget a pond so still, so quiet, so serene.
im stil still, i dont want to look crazy, im just myself, fearless, but cautious, living life, looking for love, experimenting new senses and im STILL kinda lost! dont know hot to still STILLY, im always wondering, searching..
This–this all choked. It coughed, it hovered, it burst forth, it thrashed, it wept thoroughly and then it subsided into stillness.
Is supposed to be beautiful. Stillness is the state of mind where everything is still. Where everything is clear. Where nothing exists amongst everything. When you look beyond everything. When you look behind everything. It’s the gap in between two thoughts that leaves you mind at peace and at ease. Stillness is nothing and everything.
So lovely.
The stillness in the air calmed him like the waters of a deep and beautiful ocean. He sat back for awhile on the white sand as the wind blew his emotions all around him. At that point, he had realized, it was over- and he could breathe once again.
Even in the stillness of the night, she felt uneasy. This task was extremely difficult and she wondered if offering herself to lead this team had been a bad idea from the beginning.
stillnes of the night was an errie quiet that perplexed my mind into a void of darkness and death that shrouded my ability to see anything beyond my minds eye. oh what a terrible existence this is. what to do next where to go
Stillness is odd. You would think it would be relaxing, but real stillness is kind of disturbing. It is the sound of death. Living things make noise, so when there is absolutely no noise, something is very wrong.
The room was full of stillness. It was the only way to describe it. With the windows closed, the only wind was my own breath, and even that barely made a whistle. With the door locked, no voices or footsteps echoed against the walls. When I sat down in my father’s easy chair, I expected the wood to creak and the pillows to exhale like they always had before he had died. But not even a puff of noise came, and my body sank somberly into the green mass as I stared at the silent ceiling fan.
I won’t say something about night or darkness or whichever bit’s the evil part of yin and yang but I’ll make due with saying something about how we just don’t converse any more. How even with the sun’s first arch smeared across the horizon we feel listless, still, gray in the pale light of daybreak. Legends and misunderstandings clutter the bed at our feet; the room is quiet and discontent. We are old now, too old for this certainly, but we fall into war like mute soldiers and wage in the stillness.
Nighttime stillnes can fell lonely and a bit frightning at times. Stillness should open us up to something more peaceful.
Like caught in mire, some trapped, some hearts beating manic under amber syrup paralysis. Me- my brows are furrowed beneath the ice- the final moving muscles in the face- be like the moth, be moth, wings spread never needing to create, just to feel the sun in the gold moon cracks of wing
Walking home from an uneventful day. Senior year, 2008. Letting that one song play on my headphones – the one that reminds me of the last scene in a movie where things look hopeful for the future, but there’s still a sadness to it. Everything was so quiet, and I took the moment to acknowledge the stillness. I still remember the way the wind blew that day…