Such a simple word. And yet, it can have a different meaning depending upon its usage.“The complete absence of sound,” so states the Oxford Dictionary. But this is only one of the several meanings listed. “… the state of abstaining from speech.” “The avoidance of mentioning or discussing something…” “The state of standing still and not speaking as a sign of respect for someone deceased or in an opportunity for prayer.”
In the case of the last three meanings, there can be a myriad of sounds. The shuffling of feet, a cough, other people talking, a police or ambulance siren.
Using the word, silence, means different things to different people. In the classroom, the teacher will ask for silence when the students are taking a test. That just means, “no talking.”
My husband will say, “can’t we have silence while we read or dine,” meaning turn off the music or the radio. It is understood at a classical chamber or symphony performance the audience must be quiet. But there are still the sounds from the outside, or a cell phone ring, or a drop of a pocketbook onto the floor. The same with theatre.
Have you ever experienced silence, total silence, absence of ANY sound? Really? A walk in the woods? There is the scuffling of wild animals, wind whistling, leaves clamoring, birds singing.
It can appear to be silent in my studio when there is no wind, no external sounds of lawn mowers, tractors, cars on the lower road, airplanes—maybe. Close to it. But silence does have noise. My breathing. My dog sighing. A slight ringing in my ear. The strain of silence is almost a sound. Remember the Simon and Garfunkel song, “The Sounds of Silence?” Still one of my favorites.
There are times when, early in the morning before our farm comes alive with horses, dogs and people, I will sit and meditate. It appears to be silent. But the clatter of thoughts racing through my mind that I am so desperately trying to get rid of disturbs the silence until I can get it under control with my breathing.
I don’t even think I like silence with the exception of relief from the bombardment of a constant and unpleasant noise, or when I’m trying to meditate. I love to hear the birds singing, the soft grunt from my sleeping dogs, the rain hitting against the window, the rote of the ocean, the leaves on trees slapping like loose sails, the cracking of a wood fire, the lyrical tones of a stream rushing from the mountain top,. And I love music that penetrates my entire body and gives me a lift.
Solitude comes to mind, particularly now, during Covid-19. With this last year, we have experienced a certain silence due to the lack of dinner parties, friends stopping by, people chattering in restaurants, applause at the concert hall, our families visiting with kids running in and out of the house. That silence conjures up loneliness, which creates the feeling of silence.
If and when the Covid pandemic is no longer prevalent in our lives, will the return of the opposite of that silence feel strident or harsh? Will we have become so accustomed to isolation we no longer feel comfortable in what we called our normal world before Covid-19?
I guess we wait and see, but I for one don’t think life will return to 2020, and there is a certain abundance of things I’m certain some of us would NOT want to return to—a government in turmoil, the lies or the pervasive fear. I am hopeful for a renewed democracy and equality for all. To be free is to not feel fear. And to be able to lie in silence on the grass, looking at a bright starry night and hearing only the sound of our blood coursing through our body.