The silence I love and need is more than the lack of sounds reverberating around me, although that is a good start. Silence, or within the silence I am drawn to and crave, there is a presence. The French OCDS talk about it a bit here. This silence is primarily a meeting place. It is a place where I meet God, or at least I am available to be met, should He desire to make his constant presence with me felt and sensible. It is me tuned in, tuned away from distraction, setting all the clatter aside.
Some people surround themselves with clatter, hug it to themselves, and panic if they are without it for a moment. This wearies me, saddens me, drains me.
But it isn't only about sounds: music, TV, radio, talking, "white noise," and so forth.
Thoughts make noise. My thoughts aren't as noisy as they used to be, and I don't find them demanding or deserving of the same attention they once did. It probably is why I don't blog as much as I used to.
But speaking of blogging, I have also known the state where I have to say something in order to enter into this silence. It's like another presence will stand in the middle of my heart and clear its throat until I pay attention to it, say or write the words to the one I need to say or write them to, thereby dismissing or rather dispatching this presence to go where it needs to go. And then I also can go where I need to go, which is into silence.
This silence is also linked to solitude. And since I am re-working this clunky English language to be able to express the state of my soul, I will also re-work the word solitude. I don't necessarily mean by solitude a state of being alone. I definitely do not mean by it a state of being lonely. I think of it more as a state of there being one present. Only one being is present. It is more of an idea of union, or communion, than of isolation. If I am in solitude with you, I am at complete peace, and your presence speaks and ministers peace to me, and I to you. In this peace, we are united, one, and more importantly it is a communion with the One who fills the silence. It is actually the most heavy, profound presence rather than some kind of lonely state. In this way, I think heaven would actually be perfect solitude (communion) and perfect silence (presence).
So I need and love heaven. Yeah, it always comes down to that, doesn't it.
But be practical. I'm on earth. I'm talking about an earthly experience. Our earthly experiences of divine communion must pale to the real thing. But you know what, I'll take pale experiences of heaven on earth any old day.
I experience this at times when I am home alone, and my heart is peacefully pouring outwards. I experience this at times in prayer at church when suddenly I am aware of God's presence, and I'm there, too. I experience this at times with another person, even without saying anything. Peace. Presence.
And the other day it struck me that this is real need of my soul. I could throw my husband's TV out the window, but that would not be the entire solution. I also need to throw out the things that make me feel rushed and therefore not peaceful -- like a disordered sense of responsibility for situations real, imagined, or unconsciously triggered.
And I suppose like the spiritual life often goes, entering into this silence is something one needs to practice, seek after, and pour energy into. It is both gift and task, as the trite, hippy-flavored saying goes.
My Beloved is the mountains,
The solitary wooded valleys,
The strange islands,
The roaring torrents,
The whisper of the amorous gales;
The tranquil night
At the approaches of the dawn,
The silent music,
The murmuring solitude,
The supper which revives, and enkindles love.
