Iyer on Silence

In the latest issue of Utne Reader, there are a number of fine articles culled from the alternative press, such as "Talking Trash to Power" by Jake Page (Notre Dame Magazine), "Services Pending" by Susan McCarty (The Iowa Review), "Enough About You" by Christopher Lasch, "Self-Love for Sale" by David Sirota, "We the People" by Garrett Epps (The Nation), and "Hope at Low Tide" by Carl Safina.

One that I'm drawn to and the one I'm writing about tonight is Pico Iyer's "Where Silence Is Sacred" from Portland magazine.

I don't step foot into chapels or churches that often, but I've always been drawn to their silence, how you aren't barraged by chatter, human or electronic.

It's not that I'm a misanthrope. It's just that there are certain parts of my day where I want to be left the hell alone in silence.

Even as I write this now, the "silence" isn't an absence of noise. It's certainly more quiet than usual. The TV in our bedroom is on as Mrs. Nasty does work. The wind whips itself up now and then. The ceiling fans drone on. A car rumbles down 4th Street. And I listen with a strong focus to the words of Iyer as I scan and reread parts of his article to provide the bulleted quotations below.

Here are some passages from the article that stand out for me:

• "But like people they [chapels] have a stillness at the core of them that makes all discussion of high and low, East and West, you and me dissolve. Bells toll and toll and I lose all sense of whether they are chiming within me or without."
• "You learn more by listening than talking, they know; you create a wider circle by thinking not about yourself, but about the people around you, and how you can find common ground with them." 
• "Chapels are emergency rooms for the soul. They are the one place we can reliably go to find who we are and what we should be doing with our own lives..."
• "Chapel was silence and spaciousness and whatever put the human round, my human, all too human thoughts, in some kind of vaster context."

Maybe I'm just old fashioned, but I usually don't do well when I write with music playing. Well, let me qualify. If it's a difficult or really important writing task, I need--I have to have--silence. If there's any kind of music on if I'm writing something important and I know where I think I'm going, I can maybe listen to instrumental jazz. In fact, the Soul Gestures in Southern Blue trilogy of albums by Wynton Marsalis, particularly Uptown Ruler (hell, I'm listening to it now out of nostalgia), are works that conjure up memories of writing my dissertation in our spare bedroom at 311 C Cedar Crest in Tuscaloosa. 

Iyer's article also reminds me of a great episode of Northern Exposure where Chris, the DJ of KBHR, goes to monastery for his own spiritual gains, which is difficult for him since he's a character who loves to talk. Then again, that character in the show is also a good listener, but he certainly likes the sound of his own voice. Perhaps he wasn't distracted by gadgetry. 

And this issue of silence is something I've thought about since since I've gotten an iPod. Yes, I'm late to the party. I've had an iPod for maybe a year or so. I finally got sold on the thing because music is cheaper via that medium: thrift trumps Luddite leanings. 

Anyway, I now use my iPod when I walk the dog at night. And it's harder to think with music on since walking the dog can work as a meditative-like routine. I get too wrapped up in the lyrics to let my mind wander. 

To a degree, we might need to take our own vows of silence not only to connect to ourselves but also to enjoy what we're missing.