The Meaning of Silence

I just discovered the Write Anything blog and the Friday writing challenges that they put forward. Each week, a prompt is given and then on Friday, participants are asked to post on their own blog, Tweet, Facebook, etc. Nice idea.

So looking ahead, the prompt due for February 4 is as follows:

People lie with silence as well as with words.

Tell about a time when your character “told” a lie by keeping silent about something important.

In the usual way that things come together in my mind (not that it makes sense to anyone but me necessarily), I thought of a discussion I had with a client recently. In a meeting, someone brought up a sensitive topic and threw a provocative idea on the table, and then…silence. No one came to the rescue. No one spoke up. The silence killed the topic. But did it finalize it? Or did it become one more of those things that can’t be spoken of and will never be resolved or discussed or whatever?

When I facilitate meetings, I don’t rush to fill empty space. Sometimes people are uncomfortable with this, and I can see darting eyes and questioning glances. Silence, which is the absence of sound, is valuable during strategy sessions. It allows for contemplation and the generation of ideas, and it also can reveal leadership and character of those who do choose to fill the gap.

Sometimes silence exists because people choose not to speak, they refuse. Reasons vary, but in situations like the one I mention above, silence can become a verb. The comment could have silenced the participants. Hushed them. Stunned them. Silenced them. And, perhaps, it silenced any objection or criticism or opposition.

Rather powerful for empty space.

But there is power in silence. At least that is what I believe and what I have read in terms of spirituality, contemplation, and meditation. To me, achieving a silent mind is not about emptiness. Instead, I see it as being abundantly full. Filling my vessel with all that can’t be heard. With all that doesn’t require sound.

And speaking of silence and sound, my mind takes me to modern classical music and the long moments of silence in musical pieces. John Cage is a wizard at this. But honestly, I can find it difficult to hear the beauty sometimes. It makes me uncomfortable because I don’t think I know what’s going on. Much like those folks with darting eyes in my meetings.

Which brings me all the way back to the writing prompt and using silence to lie. I am working on a variety of short pieces and will have to contemplate if and how this may fit. I may just have to come up with something new altogether.

You’ll have to wait until Friday.

Aeolus Sets Them Free

It's a grey blustering day here. The wind continues to whip the trees and calls through the chimney and the vents. I've always loved the wind, imagery of the wind, and the way it is described and given motion in words. Below is a passage from Virgil's great The Aeneid. Seems Aeolus has let them free.

Here Aeolus is king and here in a vast cavern he keeps in subjection the brawling winds and howling storms, chained and bridled in their prison. They murmur in loud protest round bolted gates in the mountainside while Aeolus sits in his high citadel, holding his scepter, soothing their spirits and tempering their angry passions. But for him they would catch up the sea, the earth and the deeps of the sky and sweep them along through space. In fear of this, the All-powerful Father banished them to these black caverns with massive mountains heaped over them, and gave them under a fixed charter a king who knew how to hold them in check or, when ordered, to let them run with free rein.

(The Aeneid, Book I, 52-63)

New Pages: April 1st

Here's the latest from the April 1st Project:

Make the most of your regrets...

To regret deeply is to live afresh.

- Thoreau

I discovered two new artists that sent me on a hunt for images: Charles-Marie Dulac and Pierre-Paul Prud'hon.

Another quote:

Law is mind without reason. - Aristotle

A few more quotes:

The basic question is what vision do you aspire to? - Abraham Maslow

All art is an imitation of nature. - Seneca

A man can stand anything except a succession of ordinary days. - Goethe

Science may set limits to knowledge, but should not set limits to imagination. - Bertrand Russell

I have been a Bruce Springsteen fan for decades and was pleased to read the above article out of the Houston Chronicle.

Destiny is not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice; it is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved. - wise words from William Jennings Bryan

And then there's David...

The infinite is Brahman. From it, from this Self, space came to be; from space, the wind; from the wind, fire; from fire, water; from water, earth; from earth, the plants; from plants, food; and from food, the body of man. This body of man, composed of the essence of food is the physical sheath of the Self. - Taittiriya Upanishad 2.1

Discovered The Vegetarian Epicure by Anna Thomas.

I really love the ad below.

The western images are from illustrated letters by Frederick Remington.

All turning goes as it will. - a line from a Hafez poem

All know that the drop merges into the ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop. - Kabir

A Formula on Living

Only those who take leisurely what the people

 of the world are busy about

can be busy about what the people of the world

 take leisurely.

-- Chang Ch'ao

And so I opened The Importance of Living by Lin Yutang.

Right away there is a discussion about idealism and realism, and formulas are put forward for national characters (French, English, Americans) and a brief list of poets and writers. Yutang believes that 'manking seems to be divided into idealists and realists, and idealism and realism are the two great forces molding human progress.'

I thought it would be interesting to consider the formulas put forward by Yutang and then come up with a self describing equation.

His list breaks down as follows:

     Reality - Dreams = Animal Being
     Reality + Dreams = A Heart-Ache (usually called Idealism)
     Reality + Humor = Realism (also called Conservatism)
     Dreams - Humor = Fanaticism
     Dreams + Humor = Fantasy
     Reality + Dreams + Humor = Wisdom

I have rightly been called an idealist in the past, and I recognize my failure to find humor in more things than I do. And, I am far too serious most of the time.

Yutang goes on to provide his assessment of the nature of certain peoples based on units of realism, dreams, humor, and sensitivity.

     R3D2H2S1 = The English
     R2D3H3S3 = The French
     R3D3H2S2 = The Americans
     R3D4H1S2 = The Germans
     R2D4H1S1 = The Russians
     R2D3H1S1 = The Japanese
     R4D1H3S3 = The Chinese

I think my equation would look something like this:

     R2D4H1S4 = Maria

While I have a realistic view, I don't accept things as they are and then detach from them. Instead, my dream quotient is high, and it butts up against realism -- pushing hard, resisting. An idealist, for sure, but I've never considered that a weakness. Low humor is really a result of high seriousness; one takes up too much space and doesn't allow the other any oxygen. And then there is the S factor -- sensitivity. Quite high for me. I believe it is the font of my creativity and is certainly evidenced in my writing. I've recently learned about my work that it is relies on emotion more than plot, and so my stories are really about the response to life, the feelings that make up that response. That is the story. Anyway...

At least, that's how I see it for now. How about you?

Resolution (after the Beatles)

Every new year brings resolutions. I was musing about it yesterday when something struck. I hope you find it as entertaining as I did / do. I had fun with this. Hum along to the tune of Revolution by the Beatles.

Resolution (after the Beatles)

I say it’s time for resolution

Well, you know

I really want to change the world

It’s more than stopping air pollution

Well, you know

I do my part to save the world

But when you go talk about redistribution

Surely you know that you can count me out

Don't you know it’s gonna be my right

my rite, that’s right

I’m trying to measure my contribution

Well, you know

I teach people how to plan

There really is no substitution

Well, you know

Do more than you think you can

But if you don’t understand the need to control your fate

Well you better brother if you want to do something great

Don't you know it’s gonna be my right

my rite, that’s right

I’m thinking about all things Confucian

Well, you know

I don’t want to be misread

It’s really all in the execution

Well, you know

Time to use the heart and the head

But if you go thinking it’s all about landing the wow

You won’t achieve anything, no way, no how

Don't you know it's gonna be my right

my rite, all right

all right, all right, my rite

all right, all right, all right

Note: Sing the words along with the Fab Four below.

 

Meaning

It was not my intention to post another poem today; however, I opened my collection by Cavafy to a page titled Meaning. I share it here:

Meaning
by C.P. Cavafy

The years of my youth, my sensual life--
how clearly I see their meaning now.

What needless repentances, how futile...

But I didn't see the meaning then.

Out of the dissolute life of my youth
my poetry's aims grew
my art's realm was drawn.

That is why the repentances were never steadfast.
And my resolutions to hold back, to change,
lasted two weeks at most.

And I Wrote the First Faint Line

Reading about the writing life, I came across this poem by Pablo Neruda. There isn't much to say about it other than, 'write on.'

Poetry
by Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age...Poetry arrived 
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where 
it came from, from winter or a river. 
I don't know how or when, 
no, they were not voices, they were not 
words, nor silence, 
but from a street I was summoned, 
from the branches of night, 
abruptly from the others, 
among violent fires 
or returning alone, 
there I was without a face 
and it touched me. 

I did not know what to say, my mouth 
had no way 
with names 
my eyes were blind, 
and something started in my soul, 
fever or forgotten wings, 
and I made my own way, 
deciphering 
that fire 
and I wrote the first faint line, 
faint, without substance, pure 
nonsense, 
pure wisdom 
of someone who knows nothing, 
and suddenly I saw 
the heavens 
unfastened 
and open, 
planets, 
palpitating plantations, 
shadow perforated, 
riddled 
with arrows, fire and flowers, 
the winding night, the universe. 

And I, infinitesimal being, 
drunk with the great starry 
void, 
likeness, image of 
mystery, 
I felt myself a pure part 
of the abyss, 
I wheeled with the stars, 
my heart broke loose on the wind. 

Launching 2011 with April 1st

Hello and Happy New Year.

An update of the April 1st Project seems like a great way to launch the year. I've made one change to my beloved ongoing journal -- I've eliminated cataloging entries by date. Instead, all that I come across can be found in one continuous stream. I hope you are enjoying it. Here's the latest: