Sometimes – more times than I realize – I need to simply shut up and let the silence of innocence speak. I certainly don’t mean that I’m innocent in the sense of being free of mistakes or injuries to others, but innocent in the sense of being absolutely simple, unsophisticated, and innocuous. I sometimes feel like a 71-year- old child, a baby newborn yesterday, a youngster yearning for the simplest understanding of things, and occasionally it comes to me that silence is the best way for me to learn, and to speak. Life seems more amazing to me each day, and my elaborate, delicate, and insubstantial words seem to lose all significance in its light. Sometimes I simply need to sit and let silence lead me to some modest truths: for instance, that sunlight on ashen streets in winter can work wonders, that music on a car radio can radiate warmth, that a loved one’s hands in light can communicate better than the best words. Most of the words I make are made of the most evanescent thoughts, ready to waft away and vanish, and never able to touch even the boundaries of the truth. For me, wide-eyed silence is usually a better speaker, and listener.