The Sound of Silence
I have just returned from the UK to my house in rural Poland and it is traditionally time for me to moan about the lack of colour. But sometimes this blanket whiteness makes a space and a silence in which I can hear all kinds of things…
I have just returned from the UK to my house in rural Poland and it is traditionally time for me to moan about the lack of colour. Not that England in winter is a riot of colour, but at least the grass is some shade of green. Coming back here is to enter a black and white world, a harsh two tone landscape, with the occasional addition of a bright inhuman kind of blue.
Forcing myself out for a walk just now I stopped concentrating on the visuals; in fact I was staring into my mobile for half the way as it’s only by climbing a hill that I can get reception. I started to listen. I could hear every little movement on this side of the valley and the other. Crunches, dogs barking, people talking, all rising with incredible clarity into that transparent air with nothing but white snow beneath it.
Clearing a space, I thought. It’s the first step of focusing, which I usually find to be a good way of listening to myself and finding a creative edge, a way forward. This blanket whiteness over everything, all the plants, all the colours, making them all the same, it makes a space. Somehow or other, it manages to make silence too. Out of that silence little noises we wouldn’t otherwise hear take centre stage.
It’s a bit like meditation, too. It can be a distinctly uncomfortable thing to do. But it gives rise to space, and silence, and being with yourself and not in a million different places at once.
I came back from my walk energised. Sometimes what I moan about is exactly what I need…
