Silence

I wanted to write about something a bit lighter today — so I consulted my writing prompts and chose the topic of silence. What could be lighter than that?

Perhaps owing to my autism and the sensory sensitivity that goes with it, I don’t think I ever experience silence. In fact, the world is very loud. I currently live in the city, and I hear all the noises-traffic, people, sirens. But even when I’m in the country I hear other noises such as cicadas, frogs, birds. These are not unpleasant noises by any means but when they stop, I still hear sounds.

There is a sort of constant hum that I don’t think is inside my head or my ears. It softens when I cover my ears or wear noise-canceling headphones (which, by the way, do not block out all the sounds-at least mine don’t).

But there is always a background of white noise. It’s as if I can hear my nervous system humming along like the sound of electricity being transmitted through power lines.

For me, silence is relative. Right now (as often) I am wearing noise-canceling headphones. They make the world sound a bit softer, like being outside after a blizzard with the thick blanket of snow covering the ground and trees soaking up sound, and everything feels so very peaceful.

Even with the headphones, I can still hear the tapping of my computer keys, doors opening and shutting in the distance, and far-off voices. I can even hear white noises like the sound of air moving and the ever-present hum that represents life to me. But these sounds are not harsh and jarring like they often are to my naked ears.

Yesterday, I wore the headphones all day. When I took them off, I found the sound of my own voice incredibly irritating. I’m not sure what that means. Is it possible to become “addicted” to noise-canceling headphones? Am I wearing them too much? Or is my voice just, like many sounds, inherently irritating?

While I relish the relative silence, sometimes natural sounds around me are pleasant, even relaxing. The comforting sounds of crashing waves, wind rustling in the trees, and bird songs make me feel calm and safe. It’s no wonder these are often used as ‘white noise.’

I’ve often wondered what a silent retreat might be like. In many ways, I think it would be heaven. Given the opportunity, I can happily go for days without talking to people (although being around strangers for days without talking might be weird and awkward).

While sitting in silence, I would still hear the sounds that I normally hear but presume that many people who go to those retreats don’t. I guess the point is for those people to be quiet enough to experience things they usually don’t notice because they’re too busy talking or their senses aren’t keen enough.

There is a condition called synaesthesia. It’s when a sensation that is typically experienced by one part of the body is sensed by a different part. For example, some people see colours when they hear music. I don’t think I actually have that condition, but I do notice that sometimes I can feel and see sounds.

It’s impossible for me to think about silence without being reminded of that classic Simon and Garfunkel song, “The Sound of Silence.” I loved that song as a child but didn’t really understand why. I never understood the idiom “deafening silence” or that it was meant to be ironic. For me, a “deafening silence” is what I hear when everyone stops talking. I’ve never not heard anything. I would imagine that, since some of the sounds seem to come from within my own brain even if I lost my hearing, I would never actually experience complete silence.

So I am content with relative silence. Noise-canceling headphones, retreats into the bush or the beach, sitting in the living room early in the morning to meditate — all ways for me to experience an absence of the jarring, irritating, everyday noise and just experience the sounds of life, of my nervous system, of nature. Contrary to Paul Simon’s lyrics, silence is not a “cancer.” It is not dangerous, and it certainly does not spread. There’s not enough of it in the world and I grab onto when I can. Silence is golden.