The Sound of Silence

"That which you most need will be found where you least want to look."

—Carl Jung

If you have ever been alone in the dark and found yourself surprised by an unrecognizable noise, you can remember the hundreds of images that flash through your mind. The rat, the snake; the dragon, the strange neighbor; your unlocked door, your neglected responsibilities. You struggle to maintain a semblance of rational peace, but everything that could be in the darkness manifests itself within a fraction of a second. You are no longer safe within the walls of your home. You have stumbled in a dark wood, and here, monsters are real.

Yesterday, I listened to Tom Ball's rendition of The Sound of Silence on America's Got Talent. I found myself grounded in my seat, experiencing a deep sense of failure and judgment. Over the past few months, I have experienced a longsuffering form of anxiety when I have nothing to do—a restroom break without a phone, alone time without Wi-Fi, a lull at work without a book, a drive home without a funny video—the silence manifested dragons. Often, I could not bear it. Or, more accurately, I chose not to. The phone was the morphine for my demons. I knew they existed, but it is easier to sweep dirt under the rug than to scrub.

Silence is the audible manifestation of darkness. Its presence beckons the same reflexes of our imagination, broadcasting all that could be into our minds. It is the Uroboros—the infinite loop of potential. It is the snake that eats its own tail and the fire that burns everything down, simultaneously fertilizing the ground for new life. It is water, both the fountain of life and the swallowing storm. She is both the nurturing mother who prepares her child for the suffering of life, and the one who overprotects, capitalizes on, and, thus, furthers the handicaps of her children with her inability to limit her compassion. The Uroboros is the snake that dwells in the garden, providing a path to consciousness while simultaneously cursing us with the understanding of the future, death, and thus, introduces us to evil. It is no wonder that we convulsively speak, turn on the radio, or say our goodbyes whenever a conversation incurs silence. You never know when the ground on which you stand will open up. Judgment day is easier to run from than to prepare for. Only in death can we escape it.

Darkness - silence - is the doorway to what could be. It is the new day dawning and the dusk of a long day's work. There is no avoiding it. Not really, anyways.

Over the last 125 years, much evidence has culminated about the curative effect of voluntarily confronting that which we fear most. When we do, we get better. The steps of courage need not be dramatic. Simply looking could be a start. When you stop running and look at the danger, it becomes something. He Who Must Not Be Named is a shadow demon that kills children, tames basilisks, and corrupts loved ones at the same time. Voldemort is a person. A person is more manageable than a shadow. He Who Must Not Be Named is invincible. Voldemort can be overcome. The best chance we have at defeating darkness is facing it, naming it, actualizing it. If we refuse to do so, we must simply hope that the angel of death passes over our door, despite our lack of preparation. For this reason, psychologist Carl Jung said, "Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate."

Today, I have tried to face my fears and live out the vision posited by Simon and Garfunkel. I set my phone aside. I am trying to listen. The silence is dreadful, but I am finding I can face it. Today is the first time I have found the courage to write in three months. It appears the Dark Lord has a weakness in the quiet of rest, and the whispers of the wind.

Hello darkness, my old friend

I've come to talk with you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams, I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone

'Neath the halo of a streetlamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light, I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never shared

No one dared

Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools", said I, "You do not know

Silence like a cancer grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you"

But my words like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed

To the neon god they made

And the sign flashed out its warning

In the words that it was forming

And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls

In tenement halls"

And whispered in the sounds of silence.

—Simon & Garfunkel

—GCF, March 6, 2023