There’s a waterfall I like to visit. I can’t see it. I can’t feel any drops of water reaching me or any cool wet breezes coming from it. The waterfall has no smell. I can only hear it. It’s with me all the time, yet I have to go to great lengths to even get close.

I have to find a quiet place away from the sounds of children playing, cars going by, and modern appliances doing whatever they do whenever they’re programmed to do it. Even my own breaths or intestines gurgling drown out the sound of the waterfall. But when I finally escape all the noise, the water rushes loudly.

Since I can’t see, feel, or smell it, I can’t know it’s really a waterfall. It sounds somewhat like the wind blowing through tree leaves or tall grass. It also sounds like a steady rain falling on a roof right above. Those are enjoyable in their own way. Maybe I’m really hearing the sound of my soul.