It surrounds me. It’s the hum of the ceiling fan, steady and constant. It’s the vibration of the floor, fueled by the washing man in a room on the far side of the house. It’s the sway of the trees outside my window, the branches gently pushed back and forth by an otherwise imperceptible wind.
It is hundreds of mourners praying, the silence broken by the random murmured “amen” and “halleluia.” The seated bodies a contrast to the fevered workings of the hearts and souls. “Take him, Jesus, back to the house you have prepared for him,” the preacher pleaded. “Welcome back your blessed servant.” And the energy of the crowd flowed like a wave to the body still and calm.
Energy is alive and dynamic, bouncing wall to wall and floor to ceiling. It’s the voices stepping over each other to be heard, a cacophony of shrieks and remember-whens and joyful accusations, pointed barbs and witty retorts. Perhaps it’s too much, too loud, but it’s a defiant statement to the universe. There is life in this place and it will not be silenced. And the room remembers, the laughter lingering in the air long after the voices have faded.
Energy is the sunshine leaking through the curtains. Subtle at first, then undeniable. It pulls me to the window, to bathe in the warmth of the morning. And it propels me out into the day, to engage and experience and live.
So I do.