We hear voices day and night.
In other times, they'd call us mad.
Instead we joke that - LOL - pouring podcasts in our ears just improves our inner monologue.
Now my dreams are opening themes and audiobooks, my mind's voice sounds like Ira Glass, or Vanessa Kirby, or the soothing baritone of Roman Mars.
Contemplation, like music, used to be a treat. Her posits a future of few screens, but endless audio; detached souls wandering through a city in private.
We know our inner voice is important. Hypnosis tapes, popular in the past, promised to help us find strength, lose weight or stop smoking. Muhammad preached that Satan whispers; his subtle influence binding you to his will. In Lexicon, the right phrase gives root access to your brain.
Perhaps it goes deeper.
Our ancestors spoke of hearing divine inspiration, prompting a theory of mind that our brain hemispheres weren't always joined; consciousness emerged from the literal voices in our head.
Or maybe our greatest prophets were just schizophrenic.
Either way, our thoughts - or whatever we replace them with - become our reality. So we should be careful what we fill our head with.
Every movement has a counter-movement. In a grand gesture, John Cage released 4 minutes 33 seconds of nothing, a protest against ubiquitous sound.
And meditation - one of our greatest proven, restorative measures - is for the wisdom that comes from quiet.
Because every inch of cybermeatspace crawls with the thoughts of others.
Only our minds hold the last scrap of silence.