Silence
Silence is soundlessness; silence exists in different forms.
An empty head or a blank mind which leads to speechlessness -- that is silence.
Enthusiasm fades like dying embers and thus leads to cynicism and indifference to life, which arouses neither happiness nor sadness, neither worries nor anger, and which costs people their interest in and desire for anything -- that is silence.
Despite all the experiences of love and hate, of disorientation and reorientation, of order-giving that was answered by hundreds and call-issuing that was not answered by a single soul, there is not a word uttered, but only a clam eye that watches on this world -- that is also silence.
Worries and sufferings, tastes of changes and vicissitudes of the world, footprints left in mountains and valleys and noises of rivers and oceans cherished in the heart are all but hidden unrevealed -- that is still silence.
Either an invaluable Italian violin or a reed whistle cut out casually would remain silent if they are not played, although the connotations of their silences differ greatly. For even though they are never touched by anybody, you can still imagine the vastly different sounds they can possibly produce.
A flawless jade ornament, or a coarse, gross brick will always remain silent if it is left untouched, but who can draw an equal sign between them?
Indeed, for a living being there is no such thing as true silence, for silence itself is a revelation of the mind and the heart, an echo of the soul of a different form.
countessalmirena
·3 years agoI love the silence of a bright morning in green parkland, seated under the great branches of a tree with a copy of “Index, A History of the” before me and a picnic basket with strawberries, Camembert, sparkling water and champagne beside me. It’s a silence punctuated by faint sounds; the more I listen and smile to myself, the more I am aware of the soft calls of birds, the breeze rustling the mystery of leaves, a barely discerned hum of distant traffic, and the benediction of sunlight on my shoulders. But the more I retreat into my book, the more true silence encapsulates me. I then become aware only of the theatre of my mind and nothing - no sound, no scent, no sight - penetrates my consciousness.
I love the silence between musical phrases. The last tone lingers. Silence is as important as the notes themselves, and are part of the architect of music.
I love night silence when I am gazing at the moon or observing the stars. The term “music of the spheres” takes on a powerful reality for me. These are also the hours when I am most inspired to write or to compose poetry or music. In silence I can hear what the daily bustle of life may conceal.
I hate the silence of sullen resentment. Have you noticed that one can hear unspoken unpleasant words that someone is holding back?
And how I hate the silence of death.
arctoph_49
·3 years agoYes - as they say, no answer is also an answer.
not_for_sale
·3 years ago"Silence is soundlessness; silence exists in different forms."
One form of silence not mentioned is that experienced by deaf people.
"Indeed, for a living being there is no such thing as true silence, for silence itself is a revelation of the mind and the heart, an 'echo of the soul of a different form'."
Despite trying rather hard, I cannot make sense of the above sentence. But it's probably me because I'm not really into Chinese philosophy or spirituality.
imastawka
·3 years agoTL:DR
I have a roadwork crew outside my door annihilating the heck outta my silence!
And it will be going all night! 😱
As it was last night!!