A Fluid Silence
Aly Johnson
“More and more do we realize that quiet is important to our happiness. In our cities the constant beat of strange and foreign wave lengths on our primal sense beats us into neuroticism, changes us from creatures who once knew the silences to fretful, uncertain beings immersed in a cacophony of noise which destroys sanity and equilibrium” (Olson 131). It’s strange to think that Sigurd F. Olson penned these words in the mid-1950s. Yet, even more mind-bending is our realization that more than half a century later, his words ring ever true. Life’s just effervescently filled with worry! In every stage, we are kept alive with the thoughts of a handful to a million ideas, tasks, anxieties, endearments, and still all the more. Every day we wake up to a stimulus. Bombarding ourselves with information for as long as our eyes and mind will allow, we marathon throughout the day, hustling and bustling about our merry way. At some late hour – well past the setting sun – we submit ourselves to a glimpse of rest. Shutting our eyes, we succumb to the splendorous slumber. Our cerebral powerhouse detoxes and raves us for the generous present…
When did life become such a monotonous series of habits? When did we people collectively decide the clearest path to a happy life was eating away our lives inside all day? Closed off within a cubical or naked and exposed in the open concept office groupthink space (just to name a few daily 9:00-5:00 cookie-cutter scenarios). Progressively denied inherent childhood freedom rights and growing in deficiency of vitamin D thanks to educational boards pursuing “higher learning” through lengthier class times. While we can always participate in proactivity to relinquish ourselves from such social stigmas and soul-spiraling bonds, significant status quo 180s in these arenas are tricks even for the pros. Where is our home-grown hope? It seem like nowadays even small scale improvements are no longer quick little skips through the park.
But there is hope for our souls. Olson painted a portrait filled with guidance. Open to interpretation, I took his words and applied them to more than our wilderness escape...to our daily lives. What did he have to say? In a chapter fittingly entitled Silence, Olson eloquently shared: “Over all was the silence of the wilderness, that sense of oneness which comes only when there are no distracting sights or sounds, when we listen with inward ears and see with inward eyes, when we feel and are aware with our entire beings rather than our senses. I thought as I sat there of the ancient admonition ‘Be still and know that I am God,’ and knew that without stillness there can be no knowing, without divorcement from outside influences man cannot know what spirit means” (130, 131). Slowing down, breathing...in and out, becoming mindful of ourselves. All are steps we can easily take to grow in silence. To introspect and delve into our souls. Or be mindless and at peace with a lax and simplistic agenda. Perhaps one of the greatest takeaways I embraced from our journey through the Boundary Waters was incorporating more meditative aquatic immersion. Call it anything you will, but it was – in layman’s terms – a blissful glimpse of heaven. Floating in silence...it reminded me so deeply of Olson’s final chapter in the summer months of his book. Literally (and figuratively) drowning out all other noises, I heard silence. As the wind brushed across my face and the water pooled around my entire being, I was aware of everything around me, then suddenly, nothing at all.
You see, in that first evening, as my caravan rested and recouped – some of us secluding to the forest, others hiding behind the brush along the shore, and still a few of us venturing into unmarked territory...escaping it all in the water – I realized what I often struggle to properly voice in words. I worry. Excessively? Maybe. But I worry about every little thing. From strangers’ opinions to whether or not I gave something my best to accepting the absolute fact that I’m human and loving the plethora of confusing emotions that tag along with such a profound and significant label. I’m human. Releasing my tensions and relieving all internal struggles, I laid in the water...refreshed and renewed. Olson wrote about listening inward, about becoming aware with our entire beings...not just our perceptions. He knew stillness was the secret to knowing and that without a disconnect from our polluted world, we can never experience the true meaning of spirit.
Now, does this mean we must throw on a pack, rent a canoe, and trudge through the Boundary Waters every time we sense a disconnect from our spirit? To some, the answer is yes. That’s the beauty of escaping our lives to the wilderness. The wilderness is a flexible, living, breathing life-line and word. Whatever feelings we extract from our time in upheaval, we most certainly can reap the same benefits in a seclusion closer to home. The silence of the wilderness is not just limited to one arena of our world. Sometimes it’s on a rock in the middle of Kelly Lake, other times it’s on a picnic blanket in the middle of Central Park, and still other times it’s laying in the grass of your grandpa’s country farm lawn...the wilderness is whatever speaks to you and wherever you feel indescribably and sensationally at peace as you listen. Listen in, for, and beside...the fluidity of silence.