It is late enough that rational people should be fast asleep. Normally, I would include myself in this group. The exception being nights like tonight when, for all intents and purposes, I am in bed, but my mind is busy processing all of the things I would not have considered relevant enough to merit it.
When I was young and couldn't sleep, my mom would coach me into closing my eyes while repeating the word "relax" silently in sync with my breathing. Although I can't remember it ever working, I still try it to this day. Lately, when I can't sleep, I try to focus on the idea of silence.
I subscribe to this incredible magazine,
Ode. The most recent issue was about silence, only silence. Among many articles describing the culture, spirituality and science of silence was one that has resonated more than the others.
Imagine a room deep underground. It has one door for entry and exit and in covered entirely in wedges of foam. This is an anechoic chamber and the foam prevents reverberation. These chambers are most commonly used to test microphones and audio equipment. Without the reverberation of sound, they are silent. For as often as I seem to crave silence, I cannot deny that it is uncomfortable. Sitting in a space, completely devoid of sound, could be maddening. Hell, it's hard enough to ride quietly in a car with another person. But in reading the accounts of those who have spent time alone inside an anechoic chamber, I am compelled.
After a while the brain ramblings stop and there is a pressure that builds in your ears from the lack of noise. This alone makes me disgusted with the audio chaos that I surround myself with daily. If the presence of clank and clamor is so prevalent that my ears could go into full freak out when it's gone, then there is something wrong with the way I live. Here's what I find most fascinating though: when it is that quiet, you begin to hear yourself. When the room, and therefore the brain, is quieted, you can actually hear your body functioning.
Have you ever lay down and noticed that you can see your heart beating on various points of your body. Perhaps I just have too much time on my hands, but I can see my stomach gently rise and fall with each lub-dub (so named by my former anatomy teacher). Once, while in a meditation class, I swear I had a moment where I felt I could isolate my heartbeat in any part of my body. It was short-lived, but an incredible experience. And there was noise in that room. In an anechoic chamber, you can hear your heartbeat. It is that quiet.
American composer, John Cage, once spent time in such a room and reported hearing only a single high pitch sound and a single low pitch sound. Upon reporting this, he was informed that the high pitched noise was the sound of his nervous system working. The low, was his blood in circulation. This event inspired his composition
4'33", in which the composer sits down at his piano, in front of an audience, with an entire orchestra, and plays nothing. He sits in silence for four minutes and thirty-three seconds, forcing those in attendance to listen to the sounds around them. (The link demonstrates it slightly different than originally intended and note the crowd between the three movements)
So, here I lay, awake, thirty minutes after beginning this post. But even in this discussion of silence, I am calmed. And as I attempt to fall asleep again, I am fascinated with the idea of silence and what more of it could mean for my relationship to others, to the world and to myself. What understanding comes from silence? Would I understand myself better as a created machine? All systems go. Would I be terrified, feeling isolated and disconnected? Can you make a reservation at an anechoic chamber as you would a hotel? I'd love to try it.
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