Words are crazy things, they tie together all of our thoughts and communications in a neat system of syntax and semantics. But often they go deeper than just what they convey to us in day to day use. In this series, I take a different word each week, see where it comes from, and talk about what that means to me.
Last week I was talking about fear. Whilst I was thinking about it, a poem fell out of me and I came to this understanding that my views on fear and silence are interlinked. In fact, there are three words that are interlinked – the other is awe, so no prizes for guessing next weeks word! I thought it would make sense to try and explain the thoughts behind that poem a little bit more now. So without further ado, find a quiet corner, grab a cup of tea, and lets get into some silence.
Silence is of course the complete absence of sound. When you stop to think about it, that’s quite an abstract concept. I mean, even if you managed to get yourself into the vacuum of space where there is completely no sound, I reckon the absence of external sound would only increase the volume of the inner monologue going on in your head hole. In this life we will never truly know what absolute silence is. That’s not to say we can’t appreciate some understanding of the concept.
I can still remember the first time I heard anything resembling total silence. I was sitting in the tree house in the front garden of my childhood home. I say treehouse, it was a wooden pallet we’d found and wedged into the fork of a tree, but it brought me joy. Usually when I’d go out to the pallet to read or just chill, there would be activity happening all around, with other families playing games or having barbecues. But on this particular Sunday, everyone seemed to be away. No one was out doing anything. I can remember clear as day the feeling that came over me in that moment, there was a peace to the day and that filled me with awe. When you first encounter awe-filled moments, though, they can be terrifying – some might say awful. For the longest time after, I was scared of the sound of silence to such an extent that I would start up any awkward conversation to stop there being any silence when I wasn’t alone. I don’t know what I thought was hiding in the silence, but I was sure there was something there and it filled me with fear.
As I sat the in the treehouse, listening to nothingness, I understood the phrase ‘deafening silence’. The silence was so loud in that moment that I felt infinity. I hope I can just leave that sentence as it is and you’ll understand it, because I can’t think of a way to articulate the sensation in a simpler way.
Initially, I was scared of this feeling of awe that came with the sound of silence, but over time I’ve become friends with it. In my travels around the world I’ve encountered it so many times, and, perhaps more importantly, met certain people who’ve taught me what it is, that I now find I crave awesome moments. What’s more, I very often seek out silence. This thing that fills me with such awe that I used to fear it has now become my sanctuary.
When there is silence I can listen to my soul, I can be at peace more easily. That brings us nicely to the etymology of the word! You see, silence comes from the Latin ‘silere’ which as well as just meaning the same as silence, can also mean I am inactive/resting. There in lies the wonder of silence: silence is creation as rest. It’s not about a lack of noise, rather it’s about serenity, tranquility, peace.
I find I have a warring mind, it’s always making troubles for me. I think that’s why this peace that is silence fills me with such awe, it’s a sensation that I seldom get to enjoy. In those rare moments when it finds me without my searching, though, it gives me the superpower to forget my fears. I remember when I climbed to Machu Picchu, my fear of heights took control of me for large stretches of the hike. But when I finally made it to the top, the fear departed.
We walked down into the ruins; all that is left of a city destroyed, just to stop it falling into enemy hands, by the very people who built it. That’s how sacred this place was to them, and it’s not hard to see why. Llamas stood idly about the place, staring back at the tourists staring at them in wonder. The place was so awesome that no one dared say a word. I gazed out across the mountains, and sensed that all too seldom perceived feeling. I was looking at a scenery so beautiful it stunned me. I couldn’t even begin to start describing how impressive the view is. The city sits on a narrow perch atop a mountain, and the drops off the cliff are dramatic. With my fear of heights, I should have been scared in this storks nest of a place, but there was something about the silence that inhibited the fear. There was a sanctity and a peace that no fear could conquer, the only feelings possible in this place are awe and veneration.
We duly walked around taking photos, in terrified awe and reverential wonderment, desperately trying to take in as much of each moment as we could, and in the process losing most of it like water in a clenched fist.
Davey Womack is a travel writer. He’s also a tour guide, hostel receptionist, and all-round nice guy. Whether it’s chasing bears in Alaska, or attempting to swim with sharks, Davey always has a unique take on the adventures he gets into and documents them right here!! He likes pizza, walks on the beach, and all animals except goats, but most of all he likes to make you smile. If you want to see what Davey does next, follow him @womackswonder on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.
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