Sound and silence

I like silence, be it the kind that makes you hear ringing at night; the kind that spreads wide on a hill surrounded by space; or the kind one finds in libraries and similar locations.

There is also the murmuring silence, where there is a group of people, sometimes even a large group, yet everyone speaks softly, shortly, secretly. This is the sort one finds at a centre of prayer such as churches or synagogues; the sort before a classical concert; the sort that populates the water, once we are totally submerged, or bathes in a crackling log fire on a cold winter night, cosy in fleecy socks.

Yes, I like silence, with its comforting hush and pillow-like sense of emptiness, of potential.

Living in a society plagued with noise, silence has always been a precious commodity. Particularly when one attempts to share its joy with other people. Most people, I'm sure you'll agree, claim to want 'peace and quiet'. Except, dictionaries to the contrary, their quiet does not mean silence. Most people, it seems, need to fill silence with sound; particularly, the sound of their voices. And, the more they hear their voice, the louder they get, until silence succumbs, leaving dejectedly at being so unwanted.

I have always ended up torn between frustration and the need to socialise. I was brought up to be polite, where polite means, in this sense, responding nicely to others (even when they are interrupting) when spoken to by someone. This is particularly trying at queues and on public transport. How to tell people that no, I am not interested in chatting and would rather just enjoy being? My brain noise is more than enough in and of its own, thank you. So is hearing the person on their mobile two rows back, the children squealing in excitement at the sweeties their grandmother is giving out, and the radio playing so our driver (bless 'em) remains sane while facing yet another traffic jam. And yes, I do love reading, thank you, that's why I have a book wide open on my lap. And I'm glad your niece, who also loves reading, is a lovely girl, but really, I don't think I need to know anything about her.

Then, today, I was granted silence. Yes, there were noises all around, but the person who sat next to me on the bus simply gave me a glance, then looked at my book, smiled and looked away! When my stop was coming up, I lifted my eyes again, and noticed the lady had fallen asleep. More than that, the people in front of us were practising murmuring silence. I felt grateful for the little miracle I was just then aware I had been living through. What made it even more magical was that, in this case, silence had been the one to spread, rather than noise, and with it, restfulness.

I will enjoy noise later on, while dancing to some rock, or pop, or whatever music tickles my fancy then. But, for now, I'll bask in silence, the one only broken by the noise of the keyboard taps and my breathing.

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