THE WONDER OF SILENCE

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) wrote "Silence is the universal refuge.  The sequel to all dull discourses and all foolish acts, a balm to our every chagrin, as welcome after satiety as after disappointment."  It's where we go to lick our wounds and savor our achievements. Pablo Picasso said, "Without great solitude no serious work is possible."   

Like many of us, my mind can be too noisy.  Sometimes something huge--war and famine and flood. Way beyond my ability to solve. Tragedies that will outlive me, that I must give to God. But also, small things--home repairs, my dirty house, my unweeded garden, stuff. The constant buzz of worries, big and small.  It all needs a bit of silence.

So many people have profound things to say about silence and solitude.  You can look them up if you want. It's calming to see how many of us ponder the benefits of a bit of quiet. Most everyone notes the difference between solitude and loneliness, silence and boredom, hearing and listening. 

Silence has its own dimension.  Author Guy Finley (1949- ) says, "It only seems that there is something more important for you to do than to just quietly be yourself." What a lovely idea.  This is something we each can do:  quietly be ourselves.  And isn't it true that silence draws people together?  Only people at home with one another can be silent together. When we think of a comforting silence it is often in the presence of a soulmate. 

Some things we can only do alone.  When I turned 50, I asked my father, "How long will I want to ride the waves?" He didn't know. Now I think it's when I can no longer push myself up from a belly flop on the shore.  Like when we ride the waves, which we do alone even when someone else is near, our best companions could be our solitary selves.  Surely true when we read or write, pray or meditate, learn a new piece, practice our art.  Just us and whomever we invite, like God.  

I've not yet traveled alone (except for business), but read about that, about the freedom to please only ourselves and the sense of achievement we feel when traveling alone.  Sometimes we feel pleasantly apart even when others are there. 

Solitude also gives us time to grieve when that's our lot. The silence to lean into our grief and hear its message. To let our suffering ebb and flow and dim on its own. That unwanted new person we need to be--someone who has lost a child or spouse, or our security or peace of mind--solitude helps that person survive and grow.  In silence we pay attention.  Our situation may change for good or ill, but however it changes, we become better at life in that world.

Look how wordlessly nature changes.  Yes, we hear the wind, the leaves rustling, the branches creaking, the water flowing.  We feel their force.  But the story they create, they do without a word.  Look again at the quote by Thoreau.  How easily we could say instead, "Nature is the universal refuge . . . a balm to every chagrin, as welcome after satiety as after disappointment."  It's important that there are times when nature and silence are interchangeable.  

Khaled Hosseini in The Kite Runner says it well:  

"Quiet is peace.  Tranquility.  Quiet is turning down the volume knob on life.  Silence is pushing the off button.  Shutting it down.  All of it."  Times there are when nothing else will do.  Shhh . . .