The sounds of quiet

Paroling myself from my own voice

Today is day one in a virtual writing intensive I’m taking with the great writing teacher Natalie Goldberg. I was introduced to Nat’s seminal work Writing Down the Bones by my friend and fellow writer Kerry Madden-Lunsford when Kerry was my professor and thesis advisor in the creative writing program at UAB. Since then, I’ve read every book Natalie has written and I took a month-long writing course taught by her during the pandemic. I am incredibly fortunate to study with and learn from her. She’s awesome.

Anyway, this 3-day intensive asks that students take a vow of silence. I’ve already goofed up a few times—saying good morning to my daughter, etc. but it was no big deal. Considering how much I run my mouth all day every day, a symptom I’m convinced is partly due to my anxiety, today without talking so far feels incredibly spacious, relaxed and well…. quiet. The vow of silence isn’t designed to turn us into monks, it’s really a listening exercise. Instead of talking, we listen.

This course is a combination of mediation and writing, two practices that Natalie teaches are intertwined. In the first meditation this morning, I immediately tuned into the sounds around me—the hum of the air conditioner, the snores of my dog, the distant motor of a car. It’s not that I hadn’t heard them before, just today they seemed crisper, more defined. As I settled into my cushion, I noted other sounds as they floated by—the shuffling of paper several rooms away, the chattering of birds in the oak tree outside my window, and eventually the airy whisper of my own breath in and out of my body. Turns out, there’s a lot of sounds to hear in the quiet if we just stop talking and settle in.

I realize, thanks to all the people I know in prison, that experiencing quiet is a privilege. When I speak to incarcerated people on the phone, I often hear shouting in the background. “What’s that about?” I’ll ask. “Oh, they’re just handing out mail.” I can’t imagine living in an environment so aggressively heavy-handed that even mundane activities involve screaming at the top of the lungs. I never recognized the freedom of going into a quiet room and shutting the door until I knew people in prison. I’m grateful they have changed my perspective on what’s important.

I’m on break right now, but going back to my writing class soon, so I’ll file this and proceed to keep my mouth shut (or try to) for the duration of the weekend. I hope you all find some peace and quiet during your weekend. How often do you just give yourself an hour of quiet? Are you able to go somewhere that doesn’t require talking? If you give it a try, let me know how it goes!