“Music and silence — how I detest them both!” So says a fictional demon in C.S. Lewis’ book “The Screwtape Letters,” as he praises the endless noise that characterizes hell.
In Dante’s “Inferno,” silence is associated with peace and serenity, while noise characterizes hell, where shrieking and curses emanate from the damned. The poisonous stew of noise simmers with “unfamiliar tongues, horrendous accents, words of suffering, cries of rage.”
When I first became a widow seven years ago, the days spent in silence didn’t bring me peace, as loneliness became synonymous with solitude — and I longed for the sound of my husband’s voice. Over time, though, silence has become an ocean of peace that is soothing and renewing. I feel closer to nature, as I awaken to bird calls and fall asleep to the lush melodies of tree frogs and crickets.
In “Gift from the Sea,” Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote about spending time at the beach alone. At first she was afraid of solitude, but then felt a deeper connection with the pelicans, gulls and sandpipers. “Beauty of earth and sea and air meant more to me,” she wrote. She felt herself melting into the universe, “as one is lost in a canticle of praise, swelling from an unknown crowd in a cathedral.”
Some noise we can’t control, such as neighborhood lawn machinery and construction, but many of us get antsy when we aren’t tapping into news shows, podcasts and videos. Sadly, we try escaping moments of silence by adding our own noise. A great example is the guy at the beach blasting rock music on his radio and drowning out the ocean sounds.
When Jesus needed respite from the crowds, he escaped to the desert or the mountain for silent prayer. Imitating him, the early desert fathers and mothers fled to secluded places to live in silence. St. Bernard, the father of western monasticism, said, “Silence and the absence of noise ... force the soul to think of God and of eternal goods.”
Streams of conversation sometimes run through our heads, which is why we fear silence and solitude. When we’re stuck entirely with ourselves, who knows what disturbing memory will pop up? Fortunately, like many people who live alone, I’ve discovered that when we befriend silence, the voices in our heads eventually stop chattering.
Let’s face it though, we can’t all live in a monastery with hours of sweet silence. Many people have babies, who are by nature delightfully noisy with their chirps and coos. Busy parents may find silence only when they’re showering — and even then, a toddler may be knocking at the door.
Still, we can give ourselves the gift of tranquility by devoting part of each day to silence. Taking walks without plugging into podcasts, and making sure the TV isn’t babbling constantly are small steps toward peace. It also comes from avoiding debates on social media, which often lead to angry exchanges.
We don’t know what heaven is like, but I’m guessing it’s quiet. Chain saws, leaf blowers and cell phones surely will be blissfully absent. I imagine a gentle robin’s song, a frog symphony and waves of silence upon the shore. And in the lovely ocean of quiet, we surely will discover the peace that surpasses understanding.
Lorraine’s email address is lorrainevmurray@yahoo.com.
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