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July 7, 2005
Silence and how we hear it...
There are times when silence is a comforting blanket, a gentle wraparound of no sound that buffers us from the jangling noise that surrounds and drowns. The sort of smothering silence that a layer of snow brings, an insulation, a protection.
There are times when silence echoes with fear, the kind of fear that overtakes you in the dark while you stumble through a damp, dark basement, listening for footsteps that you imagine are right behind and you can almost smell the fetid breath that raises the hair on the back of your neck.
What am I listening to?
The sudden silence of distance, of busyness, of distraction.
The silence of absence, the sort of emptyness that a missing picture leaves behind it on a wall.
The unnerving silence of separation, of aching loneliness, of a closeness so recent I can still smell him if I turn my head quickly enough.
The sad silence of goodnight, accompanied by the closing of a door, without his lips on my skin. The silence of withdrawl.
This too shall pass. Tomorrow shall be louder and the next day louder
still and the silences will be less disconcerting but, for tonight, they
are looming dark and large.
What are you listening to?
UPDATE: my personal silence is nothing compared to the devastating silence of a mother cradling her daughter's head in her lap by the side of the road after watching her family torn apart or the sudden vacuum of silence that occurs immediately after a horrific explosion rips the heart out of a city. I realize that my silence is about the size of a dust mote and about as important by comparison, but it is mine and it seemed important in the moment. My apologies for being so selfish.
