We listen to music wherever we go. Even the bathroom at the bar has music. As if I need a beat to pee in rhythm with music. Shavasana, “corpse pose,” is served with the accompaniment of the Top 50s music from the radio (yes, that happened to me).
I have to make an effort to get it, like I have to drive two hours into the mountains to find pure, unadulterated silence. As if silence as something we putrified.
What I think it is…I think we are scared to face our own thoughts. We are afraid to face the spirit of conviction, of what we know we must do but don’t have to. It’s as if hearing the silence will somehow incite that final heartbeat of our lives…the lives we don’t want to give because it means self-sacrifice for someone else.
Yet when I arrive in silence, my soul immediately senses rest and restoration. And I think others sense that too and want that. But the restoration feels overwhelming. Like it anthropomorphizes and glares into my soul and that’s way too vulnerable, too raw, too close. So I shut off the silence by turning on some other aural stimuli.
We breakaway from the knowing with distraction, music, the all-the-time.
Yet it’s the silence that breaks us.
And it’s the silence that hems us back to what we can’t possibly hear in the din.
It’s the silence that brings us back to the knowing, back to the listening and caring for each other.