Noise & Pace

Noise, noise -- constant noise.
Sometimes it can be deafening. Other times, it inspires ... such a sensory overload can drive one's mind and heart. It's a rush, in a sense. A steady, pounding noise can move us to action. Maybe this is why many runners blare pulsating music as they push themselves ever harder. Faster. That used to be me. Music pounding, driving my feet to a stronger pace. I could never keep up, and part of me liked that ... the part of me that thought I needed punished.
I'm not proud of that part of myself.
Recently, I had a strange notion: what if I slowed down? ... I'm a runner ... Can I do that, on purpose, and still maintain my dignity? I'm not sure, but does it matter?
So I slowed down. I put my headphones in and played music that calmed me. Then I ran. Not constantly worrying if I would ever be fast enough. I only worried if I was pacing myself enough.
I should probably mention that it had been awhile since I had done the whole running thing - winter, health issues, shortness of breath and all. It hadn't really seemed wise. If I struggled to keep up the pace way back when ... I was taking a genuine risk now.
Part of me loves risks, but only if the risk concerns me alone.
I don't like to take chances that affect those that matter to me. It's a quirk of mine.
So I took a risk; the calculated, down-played kind that I was pretty sure wouldn't cause me to collapse. And I haven't yet.
... But back to the noise.
It's quiet enough that I can still hear the birds singing. They sing, even in the rain, and I am reminded of this, my broken birdsong. It inspires me to run, no matter how sore I may be; how my stomach trembles with every breath. Can something this broken become beautiful and fluid? I am choosing to believe so. And my music. Soul-renewing varieties. Quiet, worshipful, with a certain folksy energy to it. This is what inspires me to keep moving. It doesn't force me to move, though, no. I might have once been embarrassed by how many rest breaks my weakness causes me to have. But His power is perfected. So I run on. Through my noise.
And He feels nearer still.

Popular posts from this blog

The Lost Girl of Astor Street Clue Hunt: Clue #22


Who Stays {an original poem}