The sounds of a serious silence

 The sounds of a serious silence 

One of my colleagues wondered if we could take a little extra time at break and get coffee at the place on the corner. He had something he wanted to talk to me about. I consented because he is a very kind man, though I hesitated, because he’s also a very serious man.

"The Arch" at BLU.

     It turned out he wanted to talk to me about silence. He’d just read a book. He mentioned the name of the author, who, if he knew, would certainly be more than a little surprised that I hadn’t heard of him, a public blabbintellectual, who holds The Somebody Rich and Dead Chair in a hyphenated discipline at a Big League University. If I hadn’t immediately resolved to forget the name, you’d likely remember when you heard him on NPR.

    

According to my very serious friend, the book says we have to win silence: we must wrench it from everything in this raucous world trying to defeat us – billboards and bullfights, football matches, marching bands, mambo bands, and motorcades, and most philosophy and religion. Altogether it’s a noisy cauldron, a gurgly clamor flavored with words, words, words – gossip, alibis, false promises, the blues. The steam from the stew pot rises, it stings our noses, but the smells don’t only prick, they entice us to eat, eat, eat, to gorge ourselves to the point of drowning in the mess.

     I listened. He talked. He talked. I listened. I didn’t hear anything about music or poetry – or about how without words we were to come to the positions we hold on silence.

     Nor did he say anything about laughter. This is not surprising for such a serious fellow, reading such serious stuff. Advocates of silence tend to be serious, serious fellows.

09.07.16