I came across this quote yesterday and I liked it.
It also made me think about silence – in my own space.
Loquacious, at worst, is where I would find myself usually – wordy, long paragraphs, and I can express in depth… but silence?
Yes, I did silence, I understood it too…
In different ways…
Speech is silver, silence is golden.
I had heard this proverb quite often, but not all silences are the same, are they? Not all are nurturing, or healing even! That golden silence often came in different shades – ranging from pristine platinum to diseased, sticky murk.
One kind of silence was be the peaceful tranquility of a sleeping baby or even the calming stillness of the dawn…
Or it may be the drowsy silence of a day just stirring into activity.
There is that other kind, that bides time while someone is speaking – bides time to answer, to justify, to lay blame, to retort…. and there is also the more calmer, intelligent silence of taking the time to understand. Maybe there never would be a resulting agreement, but, for sure, there is a deeper feeling of respect for having been heard out. The silence that comes from listening actively and taking in everything that the other is attempting to express.
Of course, there is the pregnant pause that pulsates with the tension of possibilities – an acute and heightened awareness of may happen next – a pause that makes us hold our breath with sheer excitement of the outcome. Words would simply not do any justice until the moment passed and a sigh of relief was sighed away…
The verklempt silence – when the pain is so intense that your throat clenches with unshed tears, unresolved anger or emotions, and the throat simply shuts down despite the cacophony of clashing thoughts and words scrambling for attention in your head – desperate to make some sense, derive some sensibility – yet unable to string into cohesive phrases and logical coherence. It isn’t really the reluctance to share, but the inability to, that builds a space of silent suffering.
The icy silence of the cold shoulder, however, is deeply unsettling. It is the kind that pushes you away and eliminates any offer of love, care and support. It is an angry, punishing silence that establishes a distance between people; with eggshells strewn all over common spaces that creates a constant state of anxious hypervigilance. Carried on long enough, over weeks and months conditioned into years, the silence here is serrated enough, not only to cut through butter, but also sharp enough to break bridges – perhaps never to mend again!
The silence of compromise may follow, when agreeing to disagree maybe? This may be a positive if there is a mutually discussed arrangement to let bygones be bygones. I believe compromises are often just assumed and never quite actively agreed upon. I think, sadly, they come from a play of power dynamics, guilt and a fear of losing a sense of safety and comfort zones inevitably making them silences of forced compromise & manipulation. This silence is devastating – treacherous – one that makes you live furthest from authentic wholeness – in a Lalaland of denial and fantasy. Can genuine compromises ever be made in silence?
The bystander’s silence – complicit in the injustices perpetrated….
and the sufferer’s silence – of repeated denial, waning hope and dismissal of but poorly concealed and unbearable onslaught to the body, mind and soul. Screaming… silently.
There is also the silence of surrender and giving up – when all is lost, but you practically weigh your wins and your losses and, perhaps selfishly, resort to silence that safely would not rock the boat and keep you in the green zone of tolerable conformation. The silence of noncommittal ‘going with the flow’ because of the hopelessness of trying to do anything but just that. Here the silence of cowardice stems from a lack of faith, and inability to trust that your best interests would ever be valued, honored, and respected. And yet, we choose to surrender, against every grain of our instinct, for the sake of self-preservation and a cowing down to ‘what if’s… playing into the web of masterminding deceit… and, knowingly allowing yourself to be led because… sigh!… what if? Better just shut up and go with it, no? Never for the sake of doing what needs doing, gracefully, but more so for compliance to a norm and safeguarding one’s interest…. in silence…
Then there is a powerful silence of presence that steps in during moments of unspeakable grief, sorrow, death.. and even during moments of extremely intense emotional outbursts. Words fail to console a heart that is heavy with loss and angst. In those moments, a steady, unwavering presence of a witnessing silence – no words required – just the assurance of a companion by your side as you try to make sense of the madness – no solutions offered, no platitudes shared, no quick-fix affirmations – but maybe, a box of tissues placed nearby, some water, maybe an arm across the shoulder…. or as I had the privilege of experiencing a few days back, the knowing that I needed to be embraced – without any agenda – just held gently – no questions asked. I offered no explanations. None were needed. He was just there – holding me for a few minutes until I recovered and the moment passed… Even I didn’t know that I needed that hug… in silent knowing…
And finally, there are those moments of deep intimacy, when no words are required, and the stillness of the quiet seems just right, stolen just enough. The silence there is peaceful – a kind of restfulness that just allows you to be. It is that comforting awareness of being with the one you love – even for the briefest of moments – when no words, no actions… nothing is required and yet the silence takes over… enveloping you in a warm blanket of absolute presence full of possibilities and yet, no expectations. The silence of lovers entwined in the simple and unequivocal embrace of surrender and acceptance – all grief, sorrow, compromises, and thrills notwithstanding… everything just is. Every sense is alert – the sound of soft but deep resting breaths and steady heartbeats, the fragrance of warm skin, the texture of hair, the dark depths of the canvas behind closed eyelids, the lingering taste of everything that transpired… highly sensory, yet emotionally non-draining.
The sound of that silence is my most cherished – not one that we take for granted – for we know how fleeting those moments are – how transient. Cherished, because it takes a special someone to elicit that sense of utmost safety to just be – to care for, and be cared by – so deeply, that you know it in your bones regardless of the prevailing situations and circumstances, that the silence is here and in the now regardless of the physical distance that exists… and because it doesn’t come by so easily…
The sound of silence that just is…
What have you experienced with silence? Do let me know in the comments…
It is my moral duty to shed mom tears in their presence)
Let’s hear it for me, folks!!
Luvena's World 