Silence Says

"Do I scare you?" Silence asks.

In my writing workshops, we often use poetry for inspiration. Today’s offering was inspired by the poem What Silence Said, by Julia Fehrenbacher.

Help! I call. There are ants crawling in my brain, forever searching for sugary crumbs. They make me fretful and jumpy, and I can’t seem to focus.

Silence responds, Listen.

I wait a full thirty seconds.

Yes? I say. Is that all you’ve got?

What’s your hurry? Silence asks. Do I scare you?

I plead the fifth.

Silence laughs. To be at ease with yourself, you must be at ease with me. And to be at ease with everything and everyone else, you must be at ease with yourself.

I sigh. I’m not used to your company anymore. The world is so noisy.

Believe me: I know, says Silence. You must stand against the clamor. Or sit against it. Or walk. Take off the headphones: No audiobooks, no podcasts, no NPR. Notice the robins and squirrels; the cerulean patches and tufty clouds; the pale, coiled buds. You don’t have to be a monk in a cave to benefit from my company.

It’s hard, I say. When I hang out with you, I feel too much.

My dear friend, says Silence gently, when there’s an ache in your heart, and you try to obliterate it with cacophony, that’s when you need me most.

But I’m a writer, I say weakly. My life is about words.

Silence chortles at this. You and your precious words.

Hey! I shout.

I’m sorry, says Silence. Words too have power. But they must be the right words. Without my help, how will you find them? How will they find you? Filling your head with chatter is like filling a field with cement. Nothing grows.

Silence continues, I am your fertile soil.

Within me, something settles, calms.

Silence says, I am the one who, when you invite me in, will always return you to yourself.

I set the table with cloth napkins and my mother’s bone china, each plate with a different flower pattern, and I invite Silence in. I serve a hearty vegetable soup flavored with garlic and bay leaves; crisp green salad in a light vinaigrette; and hot, crusty sourdough bread. Together, Silence and I eat. And it is good.