Silent: Listen by Another Name

I had no way of knowing what awaited us. Unwittingly, with our recent residential move, we traded in a constancy of sound for a sentinel of silence. During our first few days in the new house, I often found myself passing a whole hour within its void. The presence of absence felt pervasive, and my overworked nervous system willingly surrendered to its delicious velvety hush. And now that its presence fully envelops my life, my connection to silence is evolving. I would love to say this open field of quietude continues to provide comfort, but the more honest statement is at times, it is unsettling.

All of this is a bit surprising because I am a meditator. Silence has been a companion I have chosen and comfortably walked with for years. But my visits with what I had been calling silence had always been self-generated and self-directed…and it was not silent at all. Now, unless the cicadas are filling it with their impressively loud chorus, or the occasional freight train is sounding its arrival, quiet is abundantly available to me. If I am being honest, I don’t always know what to do with its full-time occupancy.

I am a bit baffled how something that feels so expansive can also be so containing. The word intimate just came to mind. And that is exactly how this silence feels, both familiar and close. But it is like a long-lost friend whose visit has extended just a bit too long. The truth is, the Quiet has granted a proximity to my own interiority that I’ve never experienced before. And for a self-awareness junkie, that is a remarkable admission.

Noticing there was less sound was easy. Recognizing how my body responded to the quiet was less predictive, but still accessible. The unthwarted exposure to my restless feelings was new and awakened by two recent events.

Since our address changed, there has been yet another school shooting, this time local, and a highly visible assassination at a college campus in Utah. The emotional significance of these two events should not have felt any closer or greater than the unwarranted and devastating death of George Floyd or the planned shootings of Melissa and Mark Hortman and John and Yvette Hoffman. And yet, there is something about this newfound noiselessness that makes these last two events “louder” in their impact.

I suppose one could argue that the emotional reverberation of violence has crossed a threshold for me, and I have hit my personal tipping point. It is also quite possible my stubborn and childlike fondness of people has previously obscured the multitudinous ways people’s behavior may not warrant such fondness, and I am just grappling with an unhealthy coping strategy that is ready to be retired. OR it’s possible, I am finally aware of a natural and intelligent response to the ever increasing signs of the loss of humanity. Either way, now that I no longer have the distraction of perpetual sound, I can feel every bit of discomfort the outside world creates within me.

For several years now, I have asserted that we have a cultural dysfunction in listening, both to ourselves and each other. And up until recently, I would argue it is because we are so addicted to our mind’s endless churning of thought that we cannot give anything else our full and sustained attention. If you ever need visible proof of this dynamic, pay attention to how overworked the ‘chat’ feature is in large Zoom meetings where the moderator has muted everyone’s microphones. If someone is not allowed to interrupt, they can hit the ‘chat’ button and create a visual representation of their preference to do so. I loathe this feature, not only because it reflects that someone has stopped listening in order to type out their thoughts. But also because it forces others to make a similar choice in order to read what they couldn’t wait to share. And each time it happens, I feel the stress of having to choose where I place my attention.

And while I continue to assert it is our own minds that pose the biggest challenge to our listening, I am now starting to wonder if we have also accommodated to a continuous state of overstimulation. With so much competing for our attention, perhaps out of necessity, we have developed an unnatural relationship with silence. We both crave it and cannot be with it at the same time.

We crave silence because our worlds are incredibly noisy. From the hum and chimes of electronics to the drone of traffic; from the diverse chatter of birds and critters to the rhythmic movement of waves; from the constant sound of air traffic to the 24-hour news coverage, there is a never-ending soundtrack to each of our lives. And that does not even take into account the endless parade of thoughts that doggedly narrates our every waking moment!!!!

But we can’t be with silence either, because as soon as we find a pocket of quiet to rest in, we know it will not last long…and as I am learning, we do not necessarily want it to. The things that patiently linger in those fleeting moments of silence are not always our preferred company. Often, they ask us to feel uncomfortable feelings and respond to them by being brave, honest, daring, or vulnerable. Very quickly, we seek space by running headlong into the perpetual din of modern life so we can escape their more challenging entreaties.

In my newfound sea of quiet, I am realizing the consuming sound all around us has a tremendous capacity to keep us distracted from our own self-knowledge. It has been my experience; my life becomes richer when I listen. I have also found people respond incredibly well when we offer them our attention and focus through the gift of listening. BUT I had no idea how much I listened past, both within and without.

Listening is an act of chosen silence and directed attention. When we are interested and want to learn or know more about something or someone our choice to speak lessens and we naturally direct our attention outside of our own mental clamor. In other words, we suspend our obsession with our own mind activity long enough to be responsive to a different source of information.

Unfortunately, our mental activity is so prolific we do not even realize how much it drags us around in cycles of reactivity. In truth, most of us are more interested in our own thoughts and our conversations are spent either seeking agreement with them or advancing our own ideas forward. I had a career that greatly benefited from my interest in what other people were sharing. As a result, I got a lot of practice with my focus being outward, which while incredibly prosocial, also meant my own inner stirrings went less listened to. And now that there is so little competing noise around me, I am more aware of them.

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The other morning, I made an uncharacteristic decision to use my meditation time for journaling. Instead of closing my eyes and objectively watching my mind’s activity, I chose to listen and record what I found in the space that held no sound. Below is my actual journal entry.

What is your role, Silence?

Do you hold space?

Do you provide room for tenderness?

Or are you the place where secrets hide?

What is your nature, Silence?

Are you where our courage dies?

Or where our resilience rises?

Do you dance around the words?

Or do the words stifle your breath?

What do you hold, Silence?

Boundless understanding?

Earnest curiosity?

Unquestioned belonging?

Or does judgement lurk within you?

Does fear call you “home”?

What can be found in you, Silence?

Insecurity trying to find its strength.

Solitude waiting to be remembered.

Harmony sure of its possibility.

Fortitude quietly persevering.

Uncertainty longing for answers.

Pain whimpering for recognition.

Hope, both unexpected and expectant.

Suffocating shame.

Unanswered questions.

Unspoken truths.

Unexplored gifts.

Invitations to greatness.

Insight into unreasonable mysteries.

I contain it all.

What are your lessons, Silence?

Live “in between”

Where the breath neither consumes nor expires

Where words soften into feathered edges of meaning

Where comfort introduces itself to pain

Where strength trips into fear

Where judgement falls into the arms of curiosity

Where uncertainty meets adventure

Where grace holds hurt

Where the barb of acceptance snags shame and turns it inside out

Where the wind whispers answers to questions not yet asked

Where possibility catches a whiff of hope

Where magic blooms while you were weeding doubt

Silence, if you hold both the worst and the best within me

And you have the capacity to transform or suppress.

How do I skillfully abide with your mystery and power?

Ask yourself, is what I am about to say better than Silence?

And has the comfort of Silence been lessened by the words I chose not to say?

(If I am being honest, I have no idea where most of this came from. It traveled through my hand effortlessly bypassing all mental machination. I also have no idea if any of it feels helpful to you. But I can tell you with certainty, I feel humbled to have been its scribe.)

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Needless to say, this major transition in my life has found me intensely aware of the presence of sound.

What does your life sound like? If you are curious, you might want to try this. For one hour, take a walk around your neighborhood or just sit in your home and pay attention to all the sounds around you. Write down what you are hearing and the frequency in which they occur. I recently did this when I returned to my previous home to get it ready for a showing. I was stunned to realize a plane traveled overhead every 15 seconds. And although I thought the woods that surrounded my home were a connection to tranquility, I was astounded at how much noise the woods produced. Now that you are paying attention, how do you feel in the presence of these sounds? Were you able to discover a pocket of noiselessness? If so, how did that feel? Which auditory experience created the greatest sense of calm? Which created the greatest sense of connection to yourself and others?

I’M INTERESTED TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR EXPERIENCE, Please Share.