The Sound Of Silence

Silence.

It has been one of the most profound markers of this global pandemic. Not simply the lack of surface noise, but the presence of a deep quiet. It is, as many have noted, as if the Earth is catching her breath. Not gasping for air, but quietly inhaling and exhaling in the way one does when in a deep and restful sleep.

It is as if silence is the container in which creation is meant to reside, and it must have been here all along, as in forever. But it took the absence of manmade sound for it to quietly slip into my awareness. In just 6 short weeks I have come to depend upon the presence of this ancient silence. It has permeated my interior landscape and quieted my inner thoughts, and I never want to lose it again.

This morning, for the first time in many weeks, that deep silence was broken. Shortly after sunrise the sounds of big equipment rang across the valley. Someone, somewhere nearby, was dropping trees and moving dirt, the sound of human voices raised above the mechanical din, and try as I might, I could no longer locate the silence. It has been punctured by the sounds of people engaged in work that must have felt important to them, and yet in that moment I was filled with the kind of sadness that accompanies the loss of someone or something precious.

It was grief, pure and simple. The silence was gone.

It was tempting to place blame on those doing the work, or find fault with the people pushing to lift the restrictions meant to safeguard us too quickly. Doing so would have felt far better than sitting with the sadness. However, as the equipment continued to do what it was doing, I tried to let that sadness do what it was doing. As painful as it is, our sadness always points us toward something we hold dear.

Even as I understand that we must carefully begin to emerge from this time of quarantine and sheltering-in-place, I am deeply afraid of losing what has been gained during this time of mutual sacrifice for the common good. Of forgetting what has been remembered, and of discarding what has been discovered. Silence is one such thing.

Whatever work was being done just beyond the trees surrounding our property came to an end. The sound of heavy equipment and the people operating it stopped, and there it was. The deep silence, that container within which we all reside, was still there. And it always will be. If I lose touch with it again, there is no one to blame but me.

Thought Partners

We all need good thought partners. Those trusted others who provide us with a safe place to process our thoughts and feelings without judgement, and who can provide a perspective other than our own. While they may offer words of encouragement, caution, or affirmation, the most important service they render is their attention, which is what makes it possible for us to find our own way forward.

Photo: Pexels

Bearing Witness

“the ultimate touchstone is witness, the privilege of having been seen by someone and the equal privilege of being granted the sight of the essence of another…”

David Whyte - Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and the Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words

Once a month I have the privilege of sharing time with two dear friends. We live in different cities and so use a video conferencing platform, which is usually as close as we can come to sitting on a porch somewhere together. We began as colleagues, ended up as friends, and the only real agenda of our monthly shared space is to show up together in whatever state we find ourselves. Today, as I shared some of my story as it looks right now, they listened deeply as they always do, and when I was done speaking, there was a lingering shared silence that communicated more than words could ever say. More words weren’t needed.

In bearing witness they had provided what mattered most.

To be seen.

Safe Spaces

We all need safe spaces for courageous thinking. 

Let’s create them for each other.

Listening

I interrupted him three times, sure that I wasn’t interested in hearing his suggestion. With only half of his thought out, I’d already determined what he was going to say, and proceeded to shut down the conversation. What a great way to facilitate communication and deepen connection with the man I love and share my life with. Finally he stopped walking, and standing in our snow covered driveway, suggested that I wasn’t listening to him. Huh. Now there’s a thought. Keeping my mouth shut long enough for him to actually finish his sentence, it became quickly obvious that he was right. I hadn’t been listening, and if I had, would have discovered that his thought was a good one, and we were on exactly the same page.

Note to self.

Let people finish what they are saying.

TMI

Last week I met with my doctor to go over the results of an MRI, ordered to try and determine the cause behind a greater hearing loss in my left ear. The concern when there is a difference in hearing levels between the two ears, which are meant to work in tandem, is the presence of an Acoustic Neuroma, a non-cancerous tumor, that while slow growing, over time can cause serious problems. My doctor was quite certain that I didn’t have one, but offered me the choice to have the scan or not. Wanting the peace of mind that comes from having the necessary information, I opted for the test.

In the exam room, after a warm handshake and a little conversation about our shared love of winter sports, he got right down to it. The images confirmed his suspicion. There was no growth, and in fact nothing of concern, all of which could have been communicated via email or phone. However, apparently there were additional results from the test that someone somewhere in the medical stratosphere deemed necessary to include on the report, and without an explanation, might have sounded serious and scary.

In other words, the report suffered from TMI.

His explanation put my mind at ease, which is what we both wanted out of the MRI in the first place, and while the other results were mildly interesting, it was information that I didn’t really need, but because it was included on the report I got it anyway.

How often do we share information just because we can? Provide too many unnecessary details? Go to great lengths to explain something, instead of getting straight to the point? Use a conversation to demonstrate our knowledge rather than to deepen a connection? Disclose details that aren’t ours to share?

Information may be power, but too much of it can be hard on our hearing.