Think about it. Think about how deep rooted this is… I know I am.
I was tapped into music for about an hour, then turned it off to go wash my face.
When I thought about turning it back on, this time through my speaker and not my headphones, I paused.
I paused, moved a little, then paused again.
I thought, ”why is everyone so scared of silence?”
There’s a lot I could say about this, and just the overall notion of one distracting one from oneself, but I think I’ll just leave it here, for now, as a wonder.
Aside from loving sound, all kinds of sound, it’s also kind of funny how selective we are with sound, and at times, what our true intention is with a certain sound is unspecified.
I was feeling off, I’d been feeling off for a few days. It happens sometimes, as I’m extremely familiar with, but that doesn’t mean I’ve gotten anymore tactical with it.
Last week, after about 2 days of off-ness, I randomly decided to play BBC Radio to hear the sounds that likely someone else was hearing in that moment too; to hear the real time voices of song titles and traffic jams. It’s weird how at times it’s comforting, but is also a gentle reminder that I’m not really present. It’s a gentle reminder that I’m not feeling as present in my actions as I’d like to, and that’s okay, it happens, but even when I find myself listening to miscellaneous, I still find fondness in the silence.
I guess the “scaredness” associated with silence has something to do with a confrontation of sorts, a confrontation that typically involves one mind… one being.
I can’t say it’s a conscious confrontation, because we’re all aware of when we are and when we aren’t doing something, so there’s no need to be hyper-aware of when these moments happen. I think it has to do with a feeling, and I guess by being this kind of present, we’re conscious of it not in our mind, but in our body.
I think whether there’s sound or not, we’re aware, but I think it’s a different kind of think… a different kind of feel we’re all trying to push to the wayside when the presence of the present starts to standby.
Silence also has a different meaning to everyone, and peoples literal interpretation of silence in a given moment will always vary.
For me, in this moment, silence is the very, and I mean very, hushed air vent that visually trickles down and through my translucent beige tinted curtain. It’s the sound my pen makes as it hits this paper—I guess presses, scribbles and flows makes more sense. The movement of different fabrics I’m wearing, cotton and silkscreen, and the pesky itching of skin I’m entertaining. The variety of crickets softly symphonizing outside my window.
Silence is trying, silence is also timing.
I love silence. I love sound.
Recognizing the presence of both, one will surely be found.