On Quiet

Paradox – Illogical truth; a seemingly contradictory statement that may nonetheless be true; exhibiting inexplicable or contradictory aspects.

I live often in the center of paradox.  Today our pastor preached on the importance of words.  He talked about the importance of words and how our lives, our relationships are founded on words, especially the two words Joy and Friendship.  My mind immediately went back an hour to the NPR program I was listening to on Sound and Spirit, an interview with Gordon Hempton on The Joy of Quiet.  The foundation, the voice in my head inserted itself, is quiet, not words.  Sometimes I think there are too many words.  And yet?  I forced myself to listen and sort it out later.  It all made sense to me—the importance of true friendship, of choosing our friends, choosing people who bring out the best in us, people who love us and who we love in spite of everything we are and do.  And Joy!  I look for, long for life-giving joy.  Yes, Friendship and Joy are two foundational words.  Yet, so is quiet.

     The importance of quiet is making its voice heard.  Gordon Hempton suggests that quiet is not the absence of sound, but the absence of noise.  I listened to his meditation on “One Square inch of Silence” in which he has staked out a square inch in the forest where for the most part noise (the noise of jets overhead, of a rumbling train or traffic does not penetrate); where in the silence you can hear for twenty-five miles or more songs of many birds, flowing waters of a river, gentle breezes in the trees, scurrying small animals on the ground, a distant rumble of thunder.  If you really listen closely you can hear an insect land on a leaf, the quiet creaking of trees.  Within these sounds of silence lie also the sounds within. 

     Since I moved to South Lyon from the outside Cheboygan, MI, I have missed the sounds of silence.  Not quite such a purist as Hempton, silence for me included peaceful voices of neighbors around a campfire, an occasional softly strummed guitar, foghorns and the low rumble of freighters passing by on Lake Huron.  I loved sitting on my meditation bench overlooking the lake in the early morning watching the orange-pink sunrise in the east, listening to the first birds awakening, joined by more birds until there was a virtual symphony of joyful sound celebrating another new day.  Whether up sitting on my bench or lying in bed listening, this growing symphony was the foundation, the joy of my day.  Here in South Lyon I still lie in bed listening as the birds begin their morning serenade.  I listen until I hear noise—a dog barking, car motors, and on Mondays come the lawnmowers with their intrusive noise and smells.  But I can still, if I work at it, move to the silence within—to my quiet center, my still point.  Today I awakened early, left the house for a walk, and was greeted to the sight of six sandhill cranes moseying about the field across from my condo.  I watched a while in silence and moved on.  Midway in my walk I stopped to greet a neighbor who has created a nature haven in and around his yard.  We sat in silence on his bench and listened and watched red-bellied woodpeckers, Baltimore orioles, house wrens, and others feed.  The sounds of silence included the joy of another day.