“Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” –Helen Keller
This quote, poignant, turns my thoughts directions I haven’t pondered lately. Obviously, Ms. Keller lived in the world of quiet—but what is quiet? I think its many things, as it serves us not only as a noun, but a verb and adverb—an action word of instance.
In a world of every kind of noise imaginable, we sometimes forget about the mandated and wishful options of quiet. In fact, we have even created a noise to make quiet: white noise. And so I write this, traversing moments of quiet powerful enough to mark endless memories worth recalling.
I remember as a child the first time I could hear myself breathe. I was in a closet, it was dark, I was scared and a young person, 5 years my senior, put me in there as a joke: I don’t recall my age, but I do know it was before I had turned 3 years old. I cried out for my Mama, but she was down stairs visiting with his Mother and couldn’t hear me. And because of that, I realized if I am too quiet she will come looking to see what I’m up to. I can recall the scent of his clothes; the color of the darkness: but most of all, I remember thinking it so quiet and it was new to me. Following that time, I was always heightened by the quiet when it came time to nap—even today I feel the quiet, should I lie down to rest. It is its own presence, like light filling up the room I am in. It is always the first layer of sound, before we pile on life’s noise.
Oh sure, we hear the word frequently in our lives; we use it as well: needing peace and quiet; quiet down; all’s quiet on the front…. But when do we hear quiet? We hear it in noise’s changing of the guard. We hear the quiet of the rain, its peace warming us; or the quiet of the snow, its beauty lulling us. We watch in awe, quietly. Many times we simply hang in it, waiting for the pin to drop. We share pain, in its silence. A baby is born, and quiet fills the room until we hear it cry its first sound.
Decades ago, I was in a tragic car accident: a four car pileup; my life went into slow motion; I watched cars crash, a woman being thrown across a highway and it all was in quiet. No sound, no organ to play the tragic incidentals, only quiet. I garden in the quiet; it is so quiet, I can’t hear the butterfly looming; I can’t hear the grass growing; and my only interruption is a bee or a fly. And even with the bee or the fly, the quiet remains: they simply leave their whimsical jet stream in their wake.
In my youth, my family would holiday at a serene mountain lake named Lake of the Woods in Southern Oregon. A family cabin nestled in the commanding evergreens, Stellar Jays; squirrels; deer abound. Deep blue skies painted my view while looking up and the deep forest green which adorned the mountains were as if I had chosen the perfect color of green construction paper for my very own composition of quiet. I remember rising one early morning and sitting in the still of the sunrise with my Father; all asleep in the cabin except us. There was the occasional comment about the rippling of the waters due to the falling of a leaf. The only sounds heard, other than quiet observations, were the rustling of the cedar, fir and pine or the occasional squirrel daring to skip across our deck. My Father, never a religious man; without a word emitted energy brought on by the quiet, as if to say, Robin, if you believe in God, we are probably in his presence right now. He didn’t need to fill my head up with his thoughts; he did not need to plead a case—his silence said everything and the sweet quiet punctuated it.
I once brought my best friend home from the oncologist. He had just been told he had pancreatic cancer and needed surgery immediately. The internal dialogue, ironically, was deafening. But the quiet—the never-ending quiet–cloaked our dreams, mood and the drive home may have been the quietest drive we had ever experienced in the 26 years we had loved each other.
There are countless ways to conjure quiet, without our will to make it happen. I’ll let your own remembrances fill up your ideas of quiet, because I am almost certain each of those moments reflects your own signature.
Ms. Keller suggests that in quiet, you may not achieve without struggle or suffering; you may not be ambitious or you may not be inspired to strengthen your soul. But as a hearing person, I disagree; because in quiet you see everything; in quiet you become, and in quiet you are mindful in your moment. In quiet there is discovery; dreams find wings and realizations become acknowledged. Quiet cradles every flavor in our souls… it is the key to unlock the boundaries in what we’ve created. It is the safe haven to embrace and to let go. Quiet is just that, comfortable or not, it’s unmistakable.
There’s a quiet ‘top the glisten
‘Neath the ripened moon
It’s sage comes to my rescue
And hasn’t come to soon
If I could paint your peacefulness
I’d paint Puccini ‘cross the skies
And when I hear your timeless melody
I hear my lover’s sighs
To embrace another’s wisdom
Is dangerous, much like
The blossom blooming early
To stage the Thorn Bird for its spike
And though I witness every day
A still and what it means
It’s quiet that’s magnificent
In its absence of machines
For television can’t compare
With that which comes from books
And buildings only man-made
Atop Mother Nature’s looks
So, quiet with my own thoughts
Prepares me for a time
Of all that might surround me
For all which is sublime
Quiet
Words by Robin Clark
© 2016 All Rights Reserved
Image: Quiet by Jim and Lynn Lemyre