Silence isn’t merely the absence of sound but rather a different abstraction altogether. You can find it in the gentle whispering of the meadows and also in the cacophony of a busy marketplace. It has often been dramatized and romanticized by the great poets that have lived, but I won’t do that. I am here to share my experiences, as they are, true to the bone. I haven’t been long acquainted with silence, in fact it’s a very recent friendship. We were introduced by some mutual friends, but we hit it off right from the start. I found comfort in its constant company while Silence found resonance in my open testimony. We didn’t have much to talk about but that was the best part of our partnership, we never needed to. It hasn’t always been smooth sailing though, we too experienced our share of highs and lows, despite however brief our acquaintance has been.

There were instances where we couldn’t find a connection, a common ground, where we were stuck waiting for the other to leave.

While those instances have been taxing, we managed to keep clear distinction of those moments from the good ones. I think we both were mature enough to know that a few unhealthy moments here and there were in fact healthy if we were to continue this acquaintance of ours. The good moments though were absolutely stunning. Silence being more experienced, led me by my hand and carefully pointed out the beauty in the world. It gestured at the elaborate thought that went into every creation. I gasped at the intricacy of the world’s synchronization. Silence was also very interested in knowing me, the real me. While the rest of the world was content to recognize me as a name and a face, Silence actually wanted to dig deep under the roots of my façade, to the very soil that holds them in place, to the core of my being. We would spend hours exploring the world by going deeper into the dark recesses of my mind. We would learn wonder and exhilaration while lighting up cavernous rooms of my mental castle that had been uninhabited since their very creation. We would navigate through the network of my memories taking care not to miss even the smallest details. Silence taught me that ignoring my nightmares is as costly, if not more, as ignoring my dreams. I too tried to delve into its consciousness, but like all the others that had tried before me, all I heard was the echo of my thoughts. Unlike us mortals, Silence didn’t cage its being in a form, a container; instead it was open for the world to see. It was so open that it didn’t have a consciousness anymore, it was a part of the universe just as the universe was its component. We struggle to float in our own individual bubbles, concerned about security and privacy, pain and struggles, our own individuality. Silence had just burst its own bubble, it was free flowing now, a part of the wind encircling the other bubbles.

Silence is free, and it isn’t the mere absence of sound but a different abstraction altogether.

Edited by - Diya Mathew