Silence and Stillness

The sound of boiling water, the smell of coffee, the sunrays bursting through the bamboo shutters. Silence. It’s not a complete absence of sound. Not like the kind you get when you shake an empty shoebox. It is a calm, serene moment. It is a quiet that hovers around during daybreak. It is a slight chill touching the face and offering a soft hug. I crave mornings like these.

A breath, a voice, and happy faces set to start off another day. Coffee touches my lips, my tongue, and my throat. It’s not that hot. Some find it so but not me. I like it like that. The heat adds this certain sweetness to my no-sugar-coffee. It's a natural sweetness within the bitters. It's a sweetness that vanishes as coffee gets colder. Better drink it while it’s hot. I like natural, like the kind you get when out climbing on rocks. Just like hot coffee, climbing has this certain sweetness even though it punishes the fingers and the body especially when pushing above your limit, but I like it like that.

I stare at the dark streaks running down the white cliff at a distance. A swirl of steamy clouds from my cup partly obscures my view. There isn't a name given for the cliff we’re headed. It is in Igcabugao, Igbaras in Iloilo. When asked where to, we say Igbaras and it is understood amongst climbers where exactly. Though there is another crag by the river, the main climbing area is the one towering above a landscape overlooking the small valley. It is always the focus of all climbing trips to the area.

Quiet, peaceful mornings are rare and when they come, they last just seconds. Infrequent moments like these are plenty in Igbaras; wake up each day and lavish yourself in them. Time slows down and the many voices drowning you tune out. Instead what you hear are your breath, and long, deep primal screams that prove your existence. “Yes, I am here, I exist, I am real,” and the echo from the valley bouncing back every grunt you gush out as you hold on to smaller and smaller holds gives you the impression that you’re not alone in your struggle. There is a comfort in hearing your own voice shouting back at you, urging you to keep going. It seems like a violent struggle but its not. Behind the loud ear splitting thunder of your own voice is a focus sharper than any spear. Behind it is a peaceful and graceful acceptance of what comes next. 

     

Soft notes playing on a guitar, firewood crackling and giving off warmth, and the glow of the moon on our skins. Stillness. No, it’s not a complete absence of movement like water turned to ice. It is a tranquil, hushed moment. It is the quiet of leaves moving with the sleepy wind. It is the slight warmth from the fire. I crave evenings like these.

Photo by: Jaime Uy