Listening in Silence

Afterwards, I drank my coffee and read my fortune in the sludge like my Godmother had taught me. It said I had a heavy heart, and that good fortune and freedom were to come. I remember the sediment on the rim of the cup indicated that I’d be traveling. Incidentally, all of my Greek coffee since then has said the same thing, so I have made it my business to journey through this world. Never doubt the sludge, my friend.

Hours of conversation unfolded. The two reuniting families shared many tears and even more laughter. Every once in a while I was clued in on what the conversation entailed, but for the most part, I felt almost as deaf and dumb as George. When I glanced at him, however, he was just as enthralled by the conversation as everyone else. His eyes no longer looked sad and confused, but twinkled in the excitement of the day. We all understood his gestures, and suddenly what made him special was his lovely feta, and not his handicap. He was just as whole, if not more so, than the rest of us, and I started to trust his motions as my interpretation. I realized that I could be just as happy as everyone else in the room, just loving and immersed in the moment.

These people did not touch the outside world very often. They had their routine, herded their sheep, and visited their monasteries. They were content, some even without ears. When their long lost cousin’s wife and children came to visit, however, each brother, with or without words, went from content and peaceful, to truly joyous. This is what it means to be human. Each and every one of us has this connection, otherwise, how could I have felt it? I was inherently connected to the mountain, to the chapel, to the nun, and to this family. The day was special, even without words or television, because no matter where we go, we will always have that bond with whomever or whatever we find.

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