There are silences that are terrifying, and fill the soul with a kind of death that is both tender and violent. There are silences that are frightening because of what it imply - a cessation, a disconnection. But there are silences that are brought about by fear, results of encounters that robs one of voice, or the capacity even of making a desperate whimper, of specters and menaces that loom large and captivating in its horror.
The quiet desperation uncannily word by Thoreau comes not from the abundance of things that preoccupy our lives, but a silence that echoes through the emptiness of our hearts, of how we who had been so full of promise, we who had been so full of life now find ourselves devoid of essences, and meaning. We go around in seemingly muffled reverberations of damasked drums, hollow at the center, and we fear that the merest touch shall undo us, shattering our half-baked notions, and dreams gone sour on us.
But there are silences that come not from fear, nor despair. It is not the faint, barely audible cry that from the unbearable sadness of our lives. There are silences, and a calmness that swooshes, and unfurls like fragile cotton sheets in a warm, windy afternoon, enhanced by the tinkling of terracotta wind chimes, that hushes the fevered soul, its fragrant lullaby soothing, calming quietness that fills our hearts with echoes of voices distant yet familiar. Moments shared between friends, intimate, comfortable, rife with words that remain unspoken, with thoughts pregnant with significance. We treasure the calm at that magical moment between dawn and the first sunray. Our fears and our anxieties muted. It is a kind of silence that does not bear heavy, but lightens us. These are kind of quietness that we long for, the quiet things no one ever knows.
*Got the title, hence the inspiration from here
The quiet desperation uncannily word by Thoreau comes not from the abundance of things that preoccupy our lives, but a silence that echoes through the emptiness of our hearts, of how we who had been so full of promise, we who had been so full of life now find ourselves devoid of essences, and meaning. We go around in seemingly muffled reverberations of damasked drums, hollow at the center, and we fear that the merest touch shall undo us, shattering our half-baked notions, and dreams gone sour on us.
But there are silences that come not from fear, nor despair. It is not the faint, barely audible cry that from the unbearable sadness of our lives. There are silences, and a calmness that swooshes, and unfurls like fragile cotton sheets in a warm, windy afternoon, enhanced by the tinkling of terracotta wind chimes, that hushes the fevered soul, its fragrant lullaby soothing, calming quietness that fills our hearts with echoes of voices distant yet familiar. Moments shared between friends, intimate, comfortable, rife with words that remain unspoken, with thoughts pregnant with significance. We treasure the calm at that magical moment between dawn and the first sunray. Our fears and our anxieties muted. It is a kind of silence that does not bear heavy, but lightens us. These are kind of quietness that we long for, the quiet things no one ever knows.
*Got the title, hence the inspiration from here
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Silence
Creepy things with silver touch
kissing my scared brows
drawn together in strange
wonder;
how can a soundless cry
be heard?
Blowing like a balmy wind
piercing my flesh
beneath the thin fragments
of once a sturdy
frame of sanity.
Who loves silence
but the one who breathes
with fiery hope
a never thwarted
glimpse of one bright tomorrow?
And I loathe it when it ushers in
all the longings of an unwanted soul hiding behind
this shadowy cove.
Silence can be scary at times. But silence can be pregnant too with God's presence and His workings!
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