The Absence of Sound & The Shades of Silence

My room is cold, a familiar chill, a silence that wraps me in introspection. This silence clings to me like a heavy cloak, a quiet so weighty it seems to hold its breath. It’s the kind of silence that makes you wonder, when was the last time you felt a silence so loud it was deafening? Whatever it was — it’s a reminder that sometimes, the loudest screams are the ones we hear in absolute quiet.

The absence of sound was all I could hear and feel. It was so overwhelming that it became a presence. But the presence of what? This silence echoed through corridors and staircases, breeding boredom, confusion, and fantasy. A silence that invited you to hear the contours of emptiness and feel the depths of shadows wrapping each organ. This silence was internal. It was hallow. This silence made you want to yell, yet even when you did, it wasn’t even close enough to be heard. But this silence feels awkward like a tumbleweed interrupting the flow of a conversation. I once believed that I could hear ants’ conversations if I listened carefully. Was that how still this silence was?

I began to wonder if silence is only felt when there is an expectation of it needing to be filled. I became aware of the many shades of silence that coloured my world and what I defined as silent or not despite the temperature of sound.

I remember the peaceful silence when I was with my dearest friends, my dog, and my grandma. Our shared quiet spoke volumes of understanding, and we had no expectations.

I knew the awkward silence that snuck up during conversations that took a wrong turn, leaving tension in the air. While these were my experiences, I understand that everyone’s relationship with silence is unique, shaped by their life stories and circumstances.

As I grew older, I found solace in reflective silence, the least lonely type of silence. In those moments of introspection where my thoughts ran deep, the world seemed to pause, and my heart filled.

But there were also times when silence felt oppressive, requiring any quick, energetic movement to move past it, the lonely type of silence.

I experienced the anticipatory silence before something was about to erupt, the moments before a life-changing decision.

Sacred silence holds a special place in my heart. It’s a forgiving, accepting kind of silence, accompanied by a profound stillness often found in places of worship or moments of spiritual connection. This silence fills the space with warmth and reassures that everything is okay, no matter what. It’s a type of silence where it feels like nothing really exists, yet everything exists within you. It’s a silence that embraces the heart so gently that it transforms from a deafening sound to a soft and sweet melody.

Then, there was natural silence, the pure quiet of the world. It was a reminder that we are not the only ones alive and breathing. A humbling silence. A silence that we share. The plants, the soil, the leaves, the water, and the earth are all alive. This natural silence could be tasted and found in the simplest things daily, like the smell of soil.