This time of year it should be easier to find silence. I haven't found it, yet.
Outside the cold wind blows. The leaves rustle.
The birds hunt for food. I hear them and I even hear them as they peck the ground.
A squirrel chatters overhead and his claws clatter on the bark
I even hear cars on a highway.
So outside there is no silence. Not real silence.
Inside to my zafu. It waits for me in a cold room.
I dress almost as warmly as I do for outside.
Inside the furnace cuts on to keep the pipes from freezing.
The wind taps at the window.
I hear my hood graze my ears.
I hear my breath pushing throgh my nose.
And over it all is the faint squeal of my tintinabulation as blood slips through my inner ear.
So inside there is no silence. Not real silence.
As Susuki Roshi once suggested: "Appreciate your life."
Why look for silence? LIfe just isn't silent.