Silence

Arnold Böcklin : Silence of the Forest

Martin Luther King Jr., said. “In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” Silence could be this deep and penetrating.

We are aware how still, quiet or at rest silence could be. What is this realm of Silence like? Have we ever stepped into this space when both the outside world and the world within us were not noisy and cacophonous and we truly perceived what soundlessness was?

What was that moment like?

What was the struggle to get into that state of being?

What agents were active to take us to that kingdom of Silence?

Was it nature?

Was it music?

Was it any artwork?

Was it any event?

Or was it without any agent?

You might also consider moments when one has to seal the lips. How is the inner world affected then? Does this ‘restraint’ help us in some way?

What kind of thoughts arises when the word Silence crosses your path, like today?

 It would be wonderful to traverse the world of Silence. So let’s dive in.

 A few poems to share:

 

There Is A Silence

By Rumi

 There is a silence into which the world cannot intrude

There is an ancient peace you carry in your heart

and have not lost.

There is a sense of holiness in you; the thought of sin has never touched.

All that disturbs you is outside of you, and there is nothing outside of you.

What is within you is without blemish, as infinite and as whole as the universe. Everything you want,

look for, and need is within you.

 

 Silence

By D.H. Lawrence

Since I lost you I am silence-haunted,

Sounds wave their little wings

A moment, then in weariness settle
  On the flood that soundless swings.

Whether the people in the street
  Like pattering ripples go by,
Or whether the theatre sighs and sighs
  With a loud, hoarse sigh:

Or the wind shakes a ravel of light
  Over the dead-black river,
Or night’s last echoing
  Makes the daybreak shiver:

I feel the silence waiting
  To take them all up again
In its vast completeness, enfolding
  The sound of men.

 

 Silence

by Marianne Moore

My father used to say,

"Superior people never make long visits,
have to be shown Longfellow's grave
nor the glass flowers at Harvard.
Self reliant like the cat --
that takes its prey to privacy,
the mouse's limp tail hanging like a shoelace from its mouth --
they sometimes enjoy solitude,
and can be robbed of speech
by speech which has delighted them.
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence;
not in silence, but restraint."
Nor was he insincere in saying, "`Make my house your inn'."
Inns are not residences. 

 

Aprons Of silence

By Carl Sandburg

Many things I might have said today. 

And I kept my mouth shut. 

So many times I was asked 
To come and say the same things 
Everybody was saying, no end 
To the yes-yes, yes-yes, 
me-too, me-too.

The aprons of silence covered me. 
A wire and hatch held my tongue. 
I spit nails into an abyss and listened. 
I shut off the gable of Jones, Johnson, Smith, 
All whose names take pages in the city directory.

I fixed up a padded cell and lugged it around. 
I locked myself in and nobody knew it. 
Only the keeper and the kept in the hoosegow 
Knew it--on the streets, in the post office, 
On the cars, into the railroad station 
Where the caller was calling, "All a-board, 
All a-board for . . . Blaa-blaa . . . Blaa-blaa, 
Blaa-blaa . . . and all points northwest . . .all a-board." 
Here I took along my own hoosegow 
And did business with my own thoughts. 
Do you see? It must be the aprons of silence. 

 

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