Silence

           Silence is only a relative possibility. Whenever I close
my eyes the silence I imagine is filled with sound. Sounds from far and near. Passenger jets from far above, auto traffic from far away, chain-saws, leaf-blowers and lawnmowers from nearby yards, the twittering of birds, and the scolding of squirrels,
all of which I hear over a continuous low-level murmuring of chittering clicks from uncountable billions of unidentified insects.

          I didn’t recognize the insect sounds right away.  

          I could hear a strange, nearly imperceptible buzz behind all the other sounds; a sound so quiet it took a while to notice. I’m not sure the sound came from insects. What else could it be? With my eyes open I wouldn’t have paid any attention any of these sounds.
          Brains become confused with too much information at any one time. We’re programed to screen-out extraneous stimuli. Without this unconscious screening we would be incapacitated by, too much, all at once. 

          What then is the use of the ancient adage: Study to be silent! 

          You can’t learn anything when you’re talking. You can’t learn anything when you’re doing. You can’t learn anything when you’re engaged in anything. It’s only when you’re unengaged that quietude opens the door to new understanding.  

          The benefits of quietude applies to the senses as
well as the brain. When one sense is shut-down the other senses take up the slack. Blind people are aware of things unnoticed by the sighted. If I hadn’t closed my eyes I would never have noticed the background buzzing of the insects.  

         So what, who cares about nearly imperceptible buzzing?  

         I can’t answer that for anyone but myself. I’m intrigued
by hidden things that become revealed. I’m amazed by what
I hadn’t before noticed. It doesn’t matter whether it’s useful information or only interesting information. My world is continuously enriched by new information. 

          Knowing is its own reward. 

          One thing more.

I was on my deck when I closed my eyes. It was Fall.
The leaves were changing color and dying. The few leaves still green were a dull green. When I opened my eyes, those same leaves were much brighter. The effect lasted only a few seconds. I’m not sure what to make of it. Are senses slightly recharged when shut-off for even a short while? 

          I don’t know. 

          Mysteries abound.













The Fall of Jemima

Boredom & Melancholy