The sounds of silence

Silence is a simple concept: Listen to it and you hear nothing. But pull back the veil and actually experience silence and you discover what exists in a world devoid of noise. That, however, is quite a challenge in a culture that routinely uses words like awkward and deafening to describe the state of silence.

As children, we're taught the value of tangible creation--the song composed with sound, the essay written with words, the painting made with color. This reliance on the palpable follows us into adulthood, where we treasure that which we can predict and understand. But silence is neither tangible nor predictable, and we have no idea where it will lead. It could take us to a place where we hear our hearts beating. Or it could bring us to a point where we listen to our hearts and recognize the opportunity to sort out our deepest thoughts, fears and hopes. In both places we are creating something out of apparent nothingness. And that is the most sublime of creations.

Until recently, going for a run without my Walkman was similar to Linus leaving home without his blanket. It was my security--pumping me up, keeping me going and distracting my mind. But one day, when life had gotten out of hand and I sought the refuge of a run, Mick Jagger whining that he couldn't get any satisfaction or Tom Petty asking for one more dance with Mary Jane was the last thing I needed to hear. Inexplicably, this was the first time I didn't want to drown out the world with noise; I wanted to quietly, peacefully set it aside. I did something I had never done: I ran in silence. And a peculiar thing happened. First, I heard my heart pumping in my chest, my feet hitting the pavement and my breath setting the pace. Then I heard ... the silence.

By nature, we are not solitary creatures. Yet silence requires us to turn our backs on the outside world and connect inwardly with ourselves. In doing so, we lose our titles and cease to be the executive, the parent, the friend. And that can be scary. We are socialized to validate our existence through our interaction with the exterior world and to hinge our self-worth and self-acceptance on how others view us. But in silence, there is nobody and nothing deeming us successful. Because there are no pretenses to hide behind, our vulnerability and insecurity are unmasked. Notice the person who constantly talks above others, who can't let a lull exist without filling it. The noise is her shelter: Through it she seeks to prove something. Or perhaps she fears not being heard--or hearing too much.

When we're ready to abandon the safe confines of noise, we are poised to discover the serene liberation that comes from trusting ourselves enough to find strength and security within. To be happy in the stillness of silence means we are learning to be content with ourselves.

I find silence in running, rock-climbing, even bungee-jumping. It is here that I am at one with myself. This is where my rudimentary personality becomes exposed. How I handle the raw intensity and emotion of achievement, as well as of failure, is a revelation of my soul's secrets.

Others may find silence behind the haunting melody of an evening wind or the soft patter of an early-morning spring rain. The vehicle is not important--just the desire and willingness to listen to whatever, at that moment, needs to be heard.

On my first silent run, all my problems didn't melt with the miles, but each step brought me closer to a place where they were less daunting. As the force of my strength, ability and confidence swelled inside of me, I heard the message: The most fundamental and empowering elements of life--passion, excellence, love--are not derived from validation or peer acceptance; they are borne of my spirit.

It has been said that divinity resides in the quiet space between inhaling and exhaling. Breathe in. Pause. Breathe out. Can you hear it?

CRISTIN MARANDINO is the managing editor of Vegetarian Times.

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