Mourning Dove
In order to see birds, it is necessary to become a part of the silence.
Robert Lynd
I was recently told that my birdwatching hobby is “quaint”. Whether this particular comment was intended to be complimentary or not (I think not), I chose to take it that way. I have, it seems, reached a point in my life at which far more worldly activities interest me less than they used to. I have traveled a great deal. I’ve embarked on some unique and thrilling adventures over the years, but the lust for “experience for experience’s sake” seems to have diminished within me. That’s not to say I don’t love a good adventure—or travel or meeting new people—but I am far more interested these days in pursuing that which nourishes my soul. That which not only brings me peace, but also brings me satisfaction. That which is somehow inherently meaningful.
Indeed, when I started this blog nearly 5 years ago, I sensed I was embarking on a quest for meaning. I relearned how to write poetry, began making collage art, watching and photographing birds and other wildlife, and writing about the importance of sensual living, of engaging fully, bodily, in the experiences of everyday life. In retrospect, I realize that all of these activities have one very important thing in common. One characteristic which gives them an element of depth, which makes them inherently meaningful: they force me to become part of the silence.
I’ve long believed, when I am out in nature—really out there—deep in the forest, high on a mountaintop, that I am somehow able to hear the silence speak. That the trees, the landscape, the rugged cliffs and serene skies, along with all the creatures that inhabit them, communicate with my soul in the most profound ways. (This is probably the closest thing to a truly “religious” experience I’ve ever had.) But I’ve come to learn that the silence doesn’t only live “out there”.
The silence is everywhere. The silence is the other side of living, the other side of being. The silence is what makes creativity possible. What brings depth to our experiences. What makes the world around us come to life and feel miraculous in all of its aspects.
We find it, I think, when we engage our senses fully. When we create. When we foster a healthy sense of curiosity about the natural world. When we engage fully and physically with the materials of the present moment. Although sometimes, it seems to me, the silence also finds us—and often in ways we least expect.
Creative people, as I see them, are distinguished by the fact that they can live with anxiety, even though a high price may be paid in terms of insecurity, sensitivity, and defenselessness for the gift of the “divine madness,” to borrow the term used by the classical Greeks. They do not run away from non-being, but by encountering and wrestling with it, force it to produce being. They knock on silence for an answering music; they pursue meaninglessness until they can force it to mean.
Rollo May
It wasn’t until I started experimenting with photography that I realized just how important the silence is to how I perceive the world and how I communicate that vision to other people. There is seeing, and there is Seeing. There is hearing, and there is Hearing. And when I am part of the silence, I See and I Hear. What’s the difference? During those precious moments in which I See and Hear, there is no such thing as just a or just another. It is as if everything is sacred. Everything is soul.
I wrote recently about the experience that first got me interested in birdwatching. On a sunny, spring morning, I saw a Northern Cardinal in a tree. And something miraculous happened: the moment I looked at him, he ceased being just another bird in just another tree on just another morning, as all others had been before him. He was, instead, the picture of perfection. It was as if the entire universe had aligned to produce the most harmonious, most sublime image ever created. It was a kind of ecstasy, really. (I imagine this is what Maslow would describe as a “peak experience”.)
A little red bird in a tree. So simple. So “quaint”. Since that day, I’ve not encountered just another bird. Because there is no such thing. That any living creature, human or non-human, is just a or just another is a terrible, and terribly destructive, fallacy.
In that moment, I believe, the silence found me, and it became part of my perceiving. Indeed, I sometimes think that which we call “miraculous” is simply a product of the silence. It is that which evades us in the course of everyday life because we’re too busy not looking. We’re too focused on what we must do, who we must be, what we must accomplish, how we must look, what we must strive for, etc. Everything else is ornamental. A little red bird in a tree is just a little red bird in a tree, when in reality, it is the silence knocking at our door.
Maslow said all of this, didn’t he? What he called “unified” or “Being-perception” is, to my mind, no less than being part of the silence. Of making meaning out of meaninglessness. Of encountering the stillness and making it sing.
The Used Life 
21 responses to “Part of the Silence”
*Beautiful*and*Wise*
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Thank you very much!
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You’re most welcome.
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Your photos are absolutely divine. The colors! 😍 Your writing is relatable to me. 💗
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Thank you so much! I’m happy you found the post relatable. 😊
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This is a profound text with many important sentiments: the sanctity of all living things and the benefits of silence for two. I congratulate you on articulating something so meaningful in such a fluid way. The undulation of your post mimics the dipping flight of a flicker, dare I say it? I would like to join you in your silence; thank you for a gentle invitation. I think writers often see what others might miss. That is a hopeful place for any reader of your slice like me- to start!
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Thank you very much! I appreciate your comment, and I love the part about the undulating flight of a flicker. I was actually tempted to put a photograph of a flicker in this post, but I decided against it at the last minute. Thank you again for reading. I am delighted this post, and the profound experience of silence, resonates. 🙂
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I live mostly in silence but have yet to experience this wisdom. I cannot wait until I do. Great captures of the birds.
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Thank you very much.
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I love this entry 🙂 Yet another one I feel we could talk about for hours 🙂 I love “The silence is everywhere. The silence is the other side of living, the other side of being. The silence is what makes creativity possible. What brings depth to our experiences. What makes the world around us come to life and feel miraculous in all of its aspects.” I wholeheartedly agree..and you don’t have to go out in nature to find it. I have found beautiful silence in my own home..I’m an introvert by nature and have discovered the creative elixir of silence as I write, sitting in my favorite chair and listening to glorious silence. And I have found that often my most restorative and healing moments have been within the quiet…it allows us to truly See & Hear, as you say, and the “quaint” or “just” moments will lend themselves to experiences that aren’t just for “experience sake”..but experiences that provide meaning, artistry and peace…well done, my friend..and I love all the bird photos. You are becoming quite the photographer!
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Thank you very much! And I agree, we could surely talk for hours about this one. 🙂 The silence, I think, is one of the reasons I like birdwatching and photography so much…and why I consider them “zen habits”. There is something, as you say, wonderfully restorative about engaging with the silence. When I’m outside with my camera, I am constantly looking and listening in ways that I don’t normally. And anything that might have been troubling or upsetting me tends to get wiped away in those moments. The chatter in my mind stops. It’s like a kind of meditation. I feel similarly about writing, too. Poetry is never born from the nonstop, frantic, ego mind. It comes from the quiet. Thank you for the wonderful feedback, my friend! I’m happy to know this post resonates and that we share similar experiences here. I’m also glad you enjoyed the photos! I very much enjoy trying my hand at photography.
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Wonderful!
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Thanks, Bob!
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Votre plus grand cadeau à vos lecteurs est de leur révéler les détails brillants de votre écriture : une phrase, une rime, un jeu de mots…
Salut et fraternité ! 🙂
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Thank you…🙂
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Beautiful
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Thank you.
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[…] But I am learning, I think. For one, I am learning that photography aligns eye, heart, and head better than anything other activity I’ve tried. While I think most tasks that are inherently creative and that require full sensory engagement, or calm attentiveness (what might properly be termed, “zen habits”), are effective to this end, I am finding that photography is especially good for me. That is, the moment I grab my camera and step outside to look (and listen) for birds and other wildlife, my mind stops. I become part of the silence. […]
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It is so wonderful to know that throughout the world there are people who can still connect to the natural world , as it should be. Become a part of it. Thank you
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I agree! Thank you for commenting.
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