Simply Silent

Good grief, it was simple.

I mean, seriously… who knew that the simple act of turning off artificial noise for a few days would reap such a blessing?

Monday morning, I challenged myself to a low tech retreat for 48 hours. I decided to live without the assistance of electronic crutch or artificial noise.  It began immediately after I hit the word “publish” on Monday morning.  I unplugged my televisions, and then my microwave, and then the cell phone.

The computer was the last to go and definitely the hardest.    

Apparently, I’m a bit addicted to my computer. 

I admit to being sorely tempted a time or twenty to just engage it a little. Just take it for a spin around the block…  A game of spider solitaire wasn’t technically the same thing as connecting to the World Wide Web, right?  Wrong.

Let’s face it; computer games are just gateway technology.  Plus, is there any more colossal waste of time than an electronic game?  I think not. Even with the sound muted, they are nothing but brain noise.

If the computer was the hardest, the television was definitely the easiest.

I thought there might be a period of withdrawal, but there wasn’t.  It had taken me over 20 years to become addicted to the sound of background noise. It took less than 2 hours to become addicted to the sound of silence.

On Wednesday morning, when I had permission
to turn on the tube,

I did.

  It took me about five minutes to turn it back off again.

It hasn’t been on since.

Not even at night.

Now folks, that’s really saying something because nighttime silence and daytime silence are two completely different animals. Daytime silence is tranquil and meditative.

Nighttime silence is just spooky. 

In the daytime,
you never stop and wonder what caused a noise. 

At night, you don't wonder either.  

That's because you're absolutely certain

it was caused by an intruder.

Late Monday night, I was positive that I heard the telltale clinking of someone or something muddling about in the recycling.

Now, our bedroom is nowhere near the recycling…
plus, I can only hear out of one ear...
But I heard it all right.
Nighttime noise is amplified.

But I also heard the sound of good old Rudy, our neighbor’s collie.  Rudy is a miniature collie who is more of an arfer than a woofer,  While there is nothing whatsoever intimidating about an arfer, it’s a well known fact they make the best tattle tales. Once he started tattling, I never heard another sound from the would-be bottle burglar.

I think he deserves some Beggin’ Strips.

I returned to my reading which, frankly, is a project that needs some tweaking. 

Our bed is an iron one, and while I love the design, it doesn’t lend itself very well to reclining.  Layering every pillow in the house in a precarious pile doesn’t help much, either. You just wake up in the morning on top of the pillows with your book light and reading glasses playing out a scene from The Princess and the Pea.  The book light survived; I’m not so sure about the glasses.  

I’m not throwing in the towel, though, and I’m open to suggestions.  I am utterly unwilling to retreat from my new found friend of silence.  

Because I learned something this week.

Silence isn’t really silent at all. It’s just quiet. There is a profound difference.  In the silence, you hear nothing. As someone who is losing her hearing, that’s just not welcoming to me.  But in the quiet, you hear even the quiet things. 

Like the sound of a train whistle from ten miles away…

And at least four different types of birds…

And the whir of the heat pump that keeps us warm…

And the arf of the collie who keeps us safe.  

And  the still, small, voice.

Learning to love the quiet is this week’s simple pleasure.

*****

Sharing this with Dayle at A Collection of This and That.

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