I think today the first time in the seven months since I came back to the UK that I knew the sound of nothing but the wind in the trees. No cars, no industry, no people, no sirens. Just stillness. And it made me realise just what a difference the environment has on me (and I suggest on everyone). Most of us who live and go about life in the city do so in an interminable sea of hustle and bustle. The stream of traffic on the road outside, that stops only for a few precious hours before dawn; the sound of water travelling through unseen pipes in the wall; the whirring of the fan inside a computer. All these noises have become so much a part of our surroundings that we cannot escape them.
It is when they are taken away, and the senses are for once left untouched, is when their effect becomes apparent. As I cycled out into the countryside, away from the roads and houses and people, I felt a sense of relief. Relief at being able to sense the thoughts arising in my mind; at being conscious for once of my own presence in the world around me.
What, then, is the effect that the assorted clutter that we carry about our senses having on us? I think that it adds just one more layer of strain, of disturbance, of unease to those that we already have enough of in daily life. To use the old adage, it's one more straw on the donkey's back.
Maybe if we unloaded that unnecessary burden from the senses just once in a while, it would benefit us and the world around us. Sunday could become that sort of day of rest. A chance to be alone with that part of us which is most near, yet most neglected.