The Sound of Silence
What is the deepest silence you have ever known?
On a podcast I was listening to recently, the host asked this question as they discussed navigating the noise of the modern world.
The deepest silence I have ever known? Several come to mind.
Listening to my own inhale and exhale when scuba diving in a granite quarry once. The water was muddy brown, just a few feet of visibility. I was getting certified, so I was terrified. But the silence of my own breath was meditative. Soothing.
Or sitting with poets in a writing workshop in Provincetown, listening to the a dozen pens scratching across paper. That silent moment when the Muse comes to life.
I also was once on a massive cruise ship, gliding through Milford Sound in New Zealand, and dolphins were leaping in and out of the gentle wake behind us. It was soundless. And beautiful.
The deepest silence is not always a lack of noise.
The pair who were being interviewed on the podcast were talking about the significant increase in internal noise—mind chatter. Psychologists, neurologists, and other scientists are studying this and trying to determine how to measure that noise that goes on in our heads.
They said that the World Health Organization considers the increase in internal chatter the second most concerning form of pollution.
What conversations are going on in your own head? And what might happen if you introduce that chatter to deep silence?
When I drive, I love to not play an audiobook, or podcast, or even music. I got this from my mother. She appreciated silence. If there’s quiet, it’s as if there is a guest room for the mind to enter. It can swirl about here or there in that vast, empty space, without being interrupted.
I sometimes find talk radio or background noise irritating. I think it’s because that external noise is competing with the stories my brain is running through.
Ever come across someone who just talks too much? Who just can’t be with silence, and instead always fills it?
It can be exhausting being around people like that. There’s no room to breathe. Silence can actually be a powerful ally. And there are so many different kinds of silence. There's the silence when something difficult has been said, and everyone in the room is waiting for a response. But there's also the silence when a new baby is born—that pause after the last push, and just before the first cry.
Norton Juster wrote in The Phantom Tollbooth, “Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven't the answer to a question you've been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you're alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.”
What is the deepest silence you have ever known?
What might be different in your life if you embrace the spaciousness of quiet?