I often consider the tumult of this world—both the outer and inner turmoil that seems to pervade the lives of many people. However, nearly everything ‘outside’ this one small planet is silence. The primary function of the Universe is silence. We are the rarity; I think it’s not so much that life is rare, but perhaps the more significant rarity is the situation of a whole system in which sound is generated and received. We have a place where those vibrations can emerge and we can be a witness.
I think the situation of our encountering one another (both the ordinary and in crisis) offers the opportunity to generate a space of silence. Unlike sight, for instance, where we can close our eyes, there is no ready muting of sound; silence is something we have to create or protect. So I think there is some kind of spiritual significance to making that space (in that silence is the norm for everything outside this environment we are in; it’s as if we are given a special opportunity where we must actively return to silence). That becomes more difficult—and more necessary—as we make the world a giant mechanism of noise. We evolved in quiet spaces and formed ourselves and social interaction in that space. There is so much talk of our inability to communicate properly now. We have not lost the ability to communicate, we have lost the ability to be quiet.
When we are really present; people sense both the respect we have for the individual and, I think, the respect for the sacred space of silence. When we speak we begin to codify and form and then ‘everything arises’. That’s necessary as well; but the arising can’t come without a space of silence to begin (and then perhaps everything returns to silence in the end). Perhaps ‘Everything that has Arisen’ was created simply to witness and eventually comprehend the Silence that was before and to follow. I wonder often about all that’s been written about God and, though it’s maybe a necessary effort, it’s not the end of understanding (this is why I am so wary now of any faith that professes ‘the Answers’). The understanding of God and the silence—or God in The Silence—is something arising and, I think, will continue to emerge till it all folds back into silence.
That, maybe, is what people sense when we sit with them quietly. That’s why just being present is so dearly important and healing. It’s not that people so much need an abundance of words and sound; they need to find a passage back into silence. It’s a situation equally helpless and empowered; that sharing that vulnerability and strength with someone in an honest way is the most healing thing one could do. There is an opportunity for emancipation. There is the ability to take up strengths that haven’t emerged before.
Some years ago, I had an extraordinarily painful surgery which rearranged my entire ribcage…all at once. I remember, during my time in the hospital and recovery, though I was the one in pain, I became the pivot point of reassurance and support for those concerned for me. It activated an understanding of the place of pain and comfort in me—and I was the one in that situation who could become a conduit for others. I certainly had the support of my parents and carers in the hospital but I had to actively engage with the whole thing to make the cycle complete. I have heard many times before people wishing they could ‘take on the pain’ for people living through it; they can’t (and I wonder if that somehow diminishes the experience of the person in pain). How does one face pain with people in the midst of it and, equally so, how do you work through that pain in what is voiced and what remains in silence?