Intro & Preface & Contents
Previous: XXII. Literary journals a poor mirror
Every morning when I wake, I thank heaven for silence. This is my orison. I remember the London days when sleep was broken by clash and clang, by roar and shriek, and when my first sense on returning to consciousness was hatred of the life about me. Noises of wood and metal, clattering of wheels, banging of implements, jangling of bells -- all such things are bad enough, but worse still is the clamorous human voice...
Here, wake at what hour I may, early or late, I lie amid gracious stillness. Perchance a horse’s hoof rings rhythmically upon the road; perhaps a dog barks from a neighbour farm; it may be that there comes the far, soft murmur of a train from the other side of Exe; but these are almost the only sounds that could force themselves upon my ear. A voice, at any time of the day, is the rarest thing.
But there is the rustle of branches in the morning breeze; there is the music of a sunny shower against the window; there is the matin song of birds. Several times lately I have lain wakeful when there sounded the first note of the earliest lark; it makes me almost glad of my restless nights.... Year after year this spot has known the same tranquillity; with ever so little of good fortune, with ever so little wisdom, beyond what was granted me, I might have made for myself in later life a long retrospect of bowered peace. As it is, I enjoy with something of sadness, remembering that this melodious silence is but the prelude of that deeper stillness which waits to enfold us all.
Alpha.
Just last night, after drinking rather more than I’m used to, I woke up in the middle of the night (one reason I rarely drink that much). I decided I should probably take the opportunity to hydrate, so I went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water before returning to bed. Lying there, I was struck by the total silence. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, though I knew I had gone to bed after Midnight. It occurred to me that I could probably guess the time by the degree of silence. The city is still quieting down until after 1am, with the final cable cars returning laboriously to their barn. After 4am the city starts to wake up. There is the surprisingly noticeable sound of individual automobiles venturing out to jobs that start really early, followed by the daily sounds of garbage toters rolling around from curb to truck and back. On extremely rare occasions the doves in the garden will start making a subdued racket for reasons known only to them.
I estimated the time as between 2 and 4am. A quick check of my alarm clock showed the actual time to be 3:15 -- deep in the heart of the most silent period of this urban night.
Beta.
“Anything from Sara Maitland’s book, The Book of Silence, I want to use here?” This was my note to myself. But when I review my notes from that book I don't know where to start. This is one of the most confused and confusing books I've ever read. For starters, after reading the book (important sections twice) I still have no idea what she means by “Silence.” In the course of the book she does seek out places that are very quiet, but she also spends an infuriating amount of time driving an automobile around Scotland seeking silence. Sometimes I think she means “Stillness” or “Solitude” but then she mentions that she is also a “voice hearer” (there is reference to an “Exeter Voice Hearing Group” that compels me to imagine them dressed as Morris dancers). She never actually says it, but I have to wonder if the “silence” she seeks is from the voices in her head.
But when she isn't annoying the hell out of me, she is very interesting when it comes to the origin of English words and she introduced me to the words “outwith” and “accidie.” She also suggests that there are at least three meanings of “silence.” The Romantics saw silence (or at least a retreat from the urban hubbub to the calm of the countryside) as a means of connecting with your creative self so that you could do productive artistic work. Kenotic silence involves the “self-emptying” of one’s own will to become entirely receptive to God and the divine will. Eremitic silence is similar to Kenotic in that it is “not concerned with the temporal world or swayed by mundane considerations...”
Maitland, as near as I can tell, wanted all the above. She wanted a little peace while getting in touch with her creative, literary “voice” while also becoming receptive to God... coming into cosmic harmony. Her success was limited.
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