So, to start with my customary thought: I am horrible at blogging. I'm not sure who I do this for, other than myself and maybe a few friends, but oh well. I still enjoy it when I have the time. And if there is any place that ought to give me the time to blog, it is the Peace Village that I am currently staying in for the Images and Voices of Hope 2010 World Summit. While I knew that it was some kind of spiritual retreat location, I had no idea how integrated the reflection and meditation would be with the summit content. Actually pretty cool, if a little hard to describe.
The conference started with a moment of silence. Immediately, I began reflecting on the simple topic of silence, which makes me think of many things from my past. I break these things into two intersecting axes of categories, each with two divisions. On the first axis is scope: personal or communal silence. On the second axis is tone: abrasive or supportive. There are many things that could fall into these categories, but I'm going to reflect only on the ones most pressing in my mind: just one from each group, though it will be hard to choose in some places.
First, personal abrasive silence. A dominant example in this category for me was Catholic church. I absolutely despised the time in which we would get off the pews, kneel down, and be expected to pray on cue. I would stare blankly down at the floor and think about anything that came to mind, but I would very infrequently pray and mostly feel uncomfortable. This is not to say that I never prayed, just that the format didn't appeal to me. I actually developed a dislike of crossing my hands or arms together and bending my head down for a while, for whatever purpose. Playing 7 Up in class was particularly reminiscent of the church prayer experience for me, and subsequently abhorred.
Next, personal supportive silence. Probably the exact opposite of the previous experience; I think here about stargazing. There is something inexplicably personal about this activity for me, even if I am with other people when I do it. Stargazing has been a regular activity since I can remember (even when it was just moongazing when we lived in Queens), and I suspect it is the sense that I am looking outward at something so vast that forces me to reflect on my place in that vastness. To me, that experience is more spiritually inspiring than any church pew. Lumped into this category I would also put other connections with nature: viewing mountains or bodies of water, and laying out on grass during rain storms or sitting on sand dunes. I love all of it, and there is something about the experience of it all that inspires quiet, calm, and contentment.
Third, communal abrasive silence. This is a rare thing and in my opinion extremely uncomfortable. Standing in an elevator with people you don't know and that clearly don't want to talk to you. Riding the bus home with teammates after going to state finals and placing second by just one point. Watching your high school chemistry teacher fume in silent anger after someone eats dry ice. I've broken my rule of only giving one example, probably because these instances of silence are so torturous as to not even bear discussion or deep reflection. They are the moments in which you want desperately to say something, and yet have nothing meaningful to contribute. And you know that everyone else present is likely feeling the same way. It just sucks.
Lastly, communal supportive silence. My favorite. This brings to mind above all else my primary school music programs. I loved the moments when you knew that everyone was thinking the same thing and working towards the same goal without uttering a word. The best songs we sang or played were always the ones that required long pauses, deep silence, and then a gentle step forward together, timed perfectly after months of practice. The most memorable of those moments came while in the Ira Allen Chapel on UVM campus, winning the regional portion of the National High School A Cappella Association's annual competition. There are other events unassociated with music that stick out for me here as well. The prayer circle around our flag pole on September 11th. The moment of silence on my graduation day for the two students that had not lived to see it. Even driving in a car next to someone else and knowing that you are both enjoying the experience without the need to vocalize it. Social moments of positive silence are by far the most refreshing, comforting, simple but perfect versions of peaceful reflection, I think.
Not sure if that should really lead anywhere. These are just some observations from my personal life. While the thought of silence makes me cringe when I think about how quiet I used to be, and that my favorite quote in my high school year book is "Silence is golden," it's actually quite a rich and enjoyable topic to delve into right now... I suspect it will remain that way for years to come, and that the nuances of the topic will only grow in detail.
