Silence and Sound

If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.
    George Eliot, Middlemarch


I spent some time in the library yesterday. Reading. Listening.
I paid attention to the quiet, to the void of noise. I embraced it for its stark contrast to the ordinary noise bath that I normally prune in with mild contempt.
Then I began to listen for small scratches registering only slightly. The turn of the page. The clearing of the throat. Footsteps. The cadence of my own breath. I began to appreciate the space between silence and sound. Without one there could not be the other, like a relief in stone. There is the stone-- whole and complete yet we find the art not through addition but through removal. Without sound we would not have silence. The act of separating one from the other is where I experienced the beauty. Suddenly, I found a new appreciation for the sounds I forget to hear-- The ones that become like audio wallpaper, just part of our audible landscape. I appreciate the times of quiet not only for the respite, but because in it I find new appreciation for sound.

CW

As an aside, because this is the way my brain works and I really want to know who's brain may function like mine:

Do you think librarians secretly hope for someone to make some noise in the library? I mean yes they make a big display of disapproval at even the slightest above a whisper with their shhhshing and death stares, but I see some pleading behind those eyes for a little ruckus. I think they want it so badly just so they can exercise their mighty muscle of maintaining quiet and order... I slammed a book shut just to test my theory and considered it an act of kindness. :)