Silence is loud. Our non-speaking mimics white noise; it’s static on the phone, it’s inaudible mutterings, it’s background jumbles at a wild party, it’s a mess of misunderstanding. In silence, we hear the sound of our own heartbeat, likened to the redundant ticking of a clock. My pulse quickens as soon as I’m aware that I’m intently listening. I inhale deeply six times to calm my nerves. We’re fascinated that our hearts know how to keep beating. The human heart is resilient that way.
In silence we wait, but we don’t exactly know what we’re waiting for. Our energy might be floating in a mass of anticipation, foreshadowing significance, an idea that’s greater than the two of us. We don’t talk because we want to delay this musing a bit longer. Uncertainty is infused with tinges of optimism. It’s a magnetic rainbow appearing out of the mist, situated in the pleasant aftermath of a heavy storm. Who has something important to say, anyway? Maybe we both do. We’ll find out soon enough.
Or maybe there really is nothing to say at all. There’s an empty space within our connection, pockets of air that are not filled with oxygen. Bruce Springsteen sings that we can’t start a fire without a spark. Fires are not in our territory at the moment. We’re too cold to warm up. We can’t see hints of a flame. We cling to the distance, to the absence of communication. Life happens. Life gets in the way sometimes.
I like words. I like creating thoughts and joining sentences together that convey truths. You like action. You like doing and demonstrating. It suits you. We agree that actions can mirror words if the words are truly sincere.
In silence, there are no words. And there’s not much action, either. Silence is loud.