Random Access Wellness Generator 010: Silence
Upon descending to the street from a New York City office building, the hum of climate control and low dinging of elevators gives way to the monument of sound that is Manhattan. It rises up from the very ground, roars down from above, and presses in from all sides: engines, motors, air brakes, sirens, taxi horns, back-up beepers, the mysterious inner workings of all those structures, and millions of voices shouting, laughing, chattering, singing in multiple languages. Alive, vibrant, and overwhelming, it is a glorious cacophony.
Boarding the ferry, the soundscape simplifies. The din of the street drops away. A horn blast signals departure, loud enough to stop thought. Safety announcements drone over the loudspeaker. The murmur of thousands of passengers fills the space. The orange vessel—its hue loud in another sense—makes its indomitable way across the harbor. Now engine roar comes only from the boat. Outside on the observation deck, flag tie-downs tink and tonk against their poles in gentle, syncopated rhythms that will one day be proven by neurologists to down-regulate the nervous system. Waves plash against the hull. The ever-present gulls have their say. On the approach to the slip, a buoy’s bell rings out with a haunting regularity. A container ship horn booms, long, low, and mournful. Now the loudspeaker alerts you to the coming noise of docking, the terminal, the bus ramps, the buses. “All passengers must leave the boat.”
I lived on the North Shore of Staten Island for two years. Each night my bus from the ferry dropped me across the street from my front door. As it pulled away the silence would embrace me. Not true silence, of course, but birdsong, the rustling of towering trees, and those evocative ship horns. My breath would deepen, and my body relax. By the time the next bus appeared on the MTA’s steady beat of once every quarter-hour, I would be inside with the sounds of my family: Seinfeld, dinner on the stove, “Mommy!”
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When I asked an old friend what fun thing we could do together while I’m in New York this coming month, she asked if I have ever tried an isolation tank. Go ahead and laugh. Floating free of sensation, light, and sound is no way to catch up with your pals. I do understand, though. We can close our eyes, but we can’t close our ears. Silence is my city-dwelling friend's idea of a good time.
I have never, in fact, tried an isolation tank. What I have done is silent retreat, all of us with badges reading “functional talking only.” My work is words. I come from a family of talkers. By selecting "Silence" as our topic today, the Random Access Wellness Generator is reminding me that interrupting the flow of commentary on every little thing also interrupts all of my habitual patterns. This, I have heard, is a good thing.
Silence. It is the space between the notes, between the words, and between the worlds. We get so little of it in our lives. Where do you find it in yours?
Independent Contract Program Supervisor Theatre Production, Program Management, Customer Service
7 个月I've wanted to try an isolation tank, myself. I know my brain would go on overdrive. Looking forward to silence in the Valley.
Book lover! Nonfiction writing coach, editor, and self-publishing guide. Fiction author and publisher.
7 个月Silence is a favorite theme and topic in my writing. It’s really weird to say that, but in my fiction writing I’m always working with silence—arising from it, evoking it, pointing to it. You describe it through your New York life as a journey through different spaces and my historical writing follows it into different times. We arise and return to silence, always. All to say, you touched on one of my very favorite topics!