“Silence, almost everywhere in the world now, is traffic. If you listen to Beethoven, it’s always the same. If you listen to traffic, it’s always different.”
John Cage
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Is there a ‘Beethoven’ you often turn to? Something that is always the same? How is this comforting? What does it offer that silence, with its unpredictability, does not?
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How might embracing the imperfections of silence—its noise and unpredictability—offer a deeper sense of rest?
- How can rest come not from control but from surrendering to what is?