The Sound of Silence

Listen to the cymbal crashing, the driving ride pushing the beat through the chorus. Leaving the room, I enter the frequency of loud“Late-breaking news” interrupted by -even louder commercials selling the engine that moves quicker, the transaction that processes quicker, the food made and consumed faster. I have to escape! Silp on my rain coat, slip out the door, and into the Jetta. Zip up the express-way, Indy radio blasting intellectual, higher music, part art, part pious indictment of the other pop stations. Jonatha Brooke ends, and commercials begins… again. I can’t really get away! Feeling out of control, I hit the power button – turning OFF the noise and turning ON the silence. Then, in this absence of voices, in crept the quieter sounds, the hum in the background, that’s always there, but we rarely notice it. But, today, even this - sounds loud! Listen to the buzz of the tires gripping the cement. Listen to the wipers in rhythm with the music I just turned off. Wap-wap, wap-wap. Dud, dud, dud. The racing red car next to me, swerving in and out, around me, interrupts with his bass, bounding through glass, space, and speed to thud into my windows. The sound of silence is not so silent.

Cut to… a modest cottage on a still lake, a walk through the woods, a hike up a mountain. Nature may be the only modern respite for us exhausted souls. Now, I know why cities, carve out parks in the midst of their concrete and metal. While it does not promise silence, it offers solitude - and at least a change in scenary. I must accept the gift and open it. I must find a quite space. So, today I will make the time.

I enter into it, like a small cottage, opening the door cautiously, but with curiosity and... expectation. I find the room unlit, and dusty. These four walls must have not been visited in some time. There are volumes on the shelf to the left, wisdom waiting to be read, truths wishing to be heard. What knowledge have I forgone by not coming here sooner? I let the wooden rickety door close behind me, shutting the noise out, and me in. On the right there sits a soft bed – enticing me to lay down and rest. I notice how tired I really am – my eyes feel heavy and my body sore. When did I get this exhausted? What have I missed while stumbling around half-awake? Still dark, I search for a light, but there is no electricity, only two windows – like the eyes to a soul – letting in some light, but revealing little because the windows are just too dirty. The dark room feels scary. The damp unkempt environment unnerves me – as I long for the clean, the familiar, and any distraction. Two steps forward, and I encounter a mirror. I don’t know if I’m ready to face myself yet, to really see myself for what I am without my job, and my wife, and car, and audience. When’s the last time I really looked into a mirror and perceived my insides? I stare at my outsides, and see my father’s image, my mother’s expressions, and evidence of age and strain and stress. I am looking like I’ve lived a bit. I see love, and hate, lust, and compassion. I feel the tightness in my shoulders the warmth of my body in the heat of this moment. A bit faint, I sit on the bed – and lift my shoes up – fully extended – and on my back. Drifting. Blinking. Asleep. Dreaming. Finally, I have found rest. Father, in heaven, giver of sleep – speak to me in my dreams – that I may awake more alive - and with lasting reminder of the sound of silence.