It's a beautiful spring day here, the warmth of the sun has coaxed out a profusion of new life, but it is eerily quiet. The familiar hum of traffic has disappeared, the clatter of caballo hooves no longer echoes down the cobblestone streets, even the prayerful murmur of the funeral cortege that once slouched past our home on the final leg of its journey has gone silent. It’s as if the needle has been lifted from the grooves of the ever-spinning circle of our lives and the music of the spheres has suddenly gone silent. The roosters still call out their morning prayers, and the bird songs that were once drowned out by chainsaws and leaf blowers are now the only thing that mark the slow passing of the hours, save for the endless drip of the kitchen faucet.
Silence and solitude have always been inseparable companions. This is the realm of poets and writers and never has so much been said about saying nothing. I’m reminded of Wendell Berry, novelist, poet, farmer, in his instructions on How to Be a Poet. “Make a place to sit down.” he begins, “Sit down. Be quiet.”
We are all bi-lingual, we all communicate in our native tongue, and in silence. But language is a barrier as well as a bridge, it helps us to communicate some things and hinders us from expressing others. Silence is perhaps a better way to communicate with nature, in the cathedral of the forest, in the dark of night, on the shore of the ocean, with the birds, and the stars, and perhaps with ourselves.
“Keeping Quiet” is a poem written by the Chilean poet, politician, activist, diplomat, and Nobel Laureate, Pablo Neruda, and although written in the 1950’s it is perhaps especially appropriate for these times.