“Silence, like the sunlight, will illuminate you in God.”
These words from the late Trappist monk Thomas Merton once greeted visitors to a barn in Monroe County, Michigan, that had been set apart as a place of quiet and prayer. The barn was closed a few years ago and has since been razed, but I thought of the sign on the door recently as I was reflecting on those among us who cannot live without constant sound. In their cars, they must have the audio system playing, and at home, the TV is always on, sometimes even as they fall asleep.
In talking with friends who live or spend time with such people, I have pondered why this is so and, indeed, why all of us are uncomfortable with silence at times.
A writer friend tried to puzzle it out in an email as we were discussing the beginnings of this blog. She wrote, “What you’ve said reminds me of something I learned in Aristotle where he says the reason people are afraid to be alone (i.e., to be silent) is because they’re afraid of seeing who they really are. So, they fill their life with lots of distractions . . .”
Silence, as Merton suggested, does shine a light onto who and what we are, showing us things we would rather not see or consider. But perhaps it is just as true that our fondness for noise and stimulation is rooted in our fear of the seeming nothingness of silence and stillness – the vast abyss that looms before us when our tools and toys are set aside or turned off. The sheer magnitude of the quiet unsettles us and so we rush to fill it with something – anything – that can momentarily distract us and assuage our discomfort.
When blogger Kim Smith (NatureIsMyTherapy.com) wrote recently about her quest for more stillness and her struggle with distractions, she cited a piece in the Utne Reader on “The Lost Art of Doing Nothing.” In it, Christian Williams talks about “losing the ability to sit and do nothing” because he, like everyone around him, now habitually turns to a smart phone to fill down time. In urging us to “spend more time staring into space rather than into a screen,” he suggests that silence and stillness are breeding grounds for new ideas and solutions. I would add that being still is not so much a state of nothingness as a canvas ready to receive a different design or even a moment of delight. Silence is really a preparation, a cleansing, a clearing of the ground for something new or better that we will never hear or see if we constantly fill in the background with noise or stimulation. Some friends who have recently gone on silent retreats engage in this kind of purging when they agree to refrain from speaking, except to pray out loud or meet privately with a retreat leader. This discipline has a purpose: so they can hear the still, small voice of God that is often drowned out by the clamor of our lives.
The other morning, as I was waking, I heard a wood thrush singing outside. It is a sound I typically hear earlier in the spring and so I wasn’t especially listening for it, but the conditions were right: the window was open, the clock-radio was set for prime bird-singing time, and when it did go off, it was not blaring, but set to play gentle music at a low volume. I was also able to hear and enjoy this bird’s reedy song because I had made space to listen to and identify it some years ago. One spring evening, I followed the sound through the woods, eventually training my binoculars on its source and pairing the wood thrush I saw with the splendid sound I had been hearing. Had I not stilled myself and carved out some times of quiet to become an observer of birds, I would have missed this auditory treat, part of a rich feast of bird song available to anyone willing to listen and experience the enrichment it brings to life.
This is just one example, but in offering it, I mean to say that those who master silence and stillness lead lives that are anything but hollow. They may not have filled their minds, eyes, and ears with a panoply of ready stimuli that form the stuff of social chatter, but having confronted and engaged the seeming emptiness of silence and the initial discomfort it brings, they hear and see what so many miss – another layer of life that lies beyond and above the pressing business of what we call living.
I love your idea of silence as “a preparation, a cleansing, a clearing of the ground…”. Lately I’ve been feeling sad and overwhelmed, so I wrote myself a prescription for some extra time in nature. As a result, I’ve been spending a lot of time at a special spot in my favorite park, just sitting on the edge of the meadow, listening. And it’s working — I feel much better after a couple hours of hearing the meadowlarks sing, enjoying the beautiful color palette of the grasses and wildflowers, and listening to the rustle of the leaves as the wind tickles them. There really is another layer of life out there in plain sight, if we’ll just allow ourselves to tune in to it.
(And thanks for the mention of my blog!)
I like your idea of writing yourself a prescription for some extra time in nature, Kim. I felt relaxed just reading about the meadowlarks, the grasses and wildflowers, and the wind tickling the leaves. It’s good to know we’re not alone in finding that other layer of life out there!
After long, noisy, stressful days at work, I crave the quietness of home and yard. Water trickling from the fountain and bird song are amazing relaxers for me. However, I live in a suburban area where being able to hear just those things is often very difficult. I find myself getting very annoyed and anxious when faced with others seeming constant use of noise, everything from blowers to mowers to motorcycles and blaring music.
How do others deal with the intrusiveness of the noise around you?
I have experienced the same frustration with that kind of noise when I lived in the suburbs, Gail, and often dealt with it by going to a quiet place like a park, as Kim Smith described in her comment, or finding times to be outside when neighbors were less likely to be mowing, revving motors, or playing music.
You always help me stop the noise and refocus. Thanks, so much!
Thank you, Chris! Good to hear from you!
Thank you for reminding us for the need to let go of the noise that clutters our lives. I loved Merton’s contemplative living and some of his ideas of knowing God the one who wants to hear from us. Thank you for writing and allow us to re evaluate where we are and where we should be in our journey with the Lord. Your article was so beautifully written. Thank you writing this to help us to look at ourselves and renew our love.
You are so right in saying that noise clutters our lives, Brandy. Thanks for reading and for your thoughtful comment.
Judy, as usual I look forward to reading your articles and this one was another good and peaceful one. Right now, I am sitting on my screened-in porch listening to all the sounds around me and enjoying every minute of it. I used to go on nature walks to listen to the birds and other sounds but have not done that in awhile because of health reasons but sitting on my porch at certain times of the day helps. Thank you so much for these articles and I plan to share this one on Facebook. Miss you.
I am a big fan of porch-sitting, Pearl, and, given I do a lot of it this time of year, can certainly speak to its benefits! So glad you have a screened porch where you can enjoy the outdoors without having to fight off the mosquitoes! Thanks so much for your comment.