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Sounds of Silence

Uluru Sunset (photo by Martin Fisher/Flickr)

The day will come when man will have to fight noise as inexorably as cholera and the plague.” So said the Nobel Prize-winning bacteriologist Robert Koch in 1905. A century later, that day has drawn much nearer. Today silence has become an endangered species. Our cities, our suburbs, our farm communities, even our most expansive and remote national parks are not free from human noise intrusions. Nor is there relief even at the North Pole; continent-hopping jets see to that. Moreover, fighting noise is not the same as preserving silence. Our typical anti-noise strategies — earplugs, noise cancellation headphones, even noise abatement laws — offer no real solution because they do nothing to help us reconnect and listen to the land. And the land is speaking.

We’ve reached a time in human history when our global environmental crisis requires that we make permanent life-style changes. More than ever before, we need to fall back in love with the land. Silence is our meeting place.

It is our birthright to listen, quietly and undisturbed, to the natural environment and take whatever meanings we may. Long before the noises of mankind, there were only the sounds of the natural world. Our ears evolved perfectly tuned to hear these sounds-sounds that far exceed the range of human speech or even our most ambitious musical performances: a passing breeze that indicates a weather change, the first birdsongs of spring heralding a regreening of the land and a return to growth and prosperity, an approaching storm promising relief from a drought, and the shifting tide reminding us of the celestial ballet. All of these experiences connect us back to the land and to our evolutionary past.

One Square Inch of Silence is a place in the Hoh Rain Forest, part of Olympic National Park — arguably the quietest place in the United States. But it, too, is endangered, protected only by a policy that is neither practiced by the National Park Service itself nor supported by adequate laws. My hope is that One Square Inch will trigger a quiet awakening in all those willing to become true listeners.

Preserving natural silence is as necessary and essential as species preservation, habitat restoration, toxic waste cleanup, and carbon dioxide reduction, to name but a few of the immediate challenges that confront us in this still young century. The good news is that rescuing silence can come much more easily than tackling these other problems. A single law would signal a huge and immediate improvement. That law would prohibit all aircraft from flying over our most pristine national parks.

Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything. It lives here, profoundly, at One Square Inch in the Hoh Rain Forest. It is the presence of time, undisturbed. It can be felt within the chest. Silence nurtures our nature, our human nature, and lets us know who we are. Left with a more receptive mind and a more attuned ear, we become better listeners not only to nature but to each other. Silence can be carried like embers from a fire. Silence can be found, and silence can find you. Silence can be lost and also recovered. But silence cannot be imagined, although most people think so. To experience the soul-swelling wonder of silence, you must hear it.

Silence is a sound, many, many sounds. I’ve heard more than I can count. Silence is the moonlit song of the coyote signing the air, and the answer of its mate. It is the falling whisper of snow that will later melt with an astonishing reggae rhythm so crisp that you will want to dance to it. It is the sound of pollinating winged insects vibrating soft tunes as they defensively dart in and out of the pine boughs to temporarily escape the breeze, a mix of insect hum and pine sigh that will stick with you all day. Silence is the passing flock of chestnut-backed chickadees and red-breasted nuthatches, chirping and fluttering, reminding you of your own curiosity.

Have you heard the rain lately? America’s great northwest rain forest, no surprise, is an excellent place to listen. Here’s what I’ve heard at One Square Inch of Silence. The first of the rainy season is not wet at all. Initially, countless seeds fall from the towering trees. This is soon followed by the soft applause of fluttering maple leaves, which settle oh so quietly as a winter blanket for the seeds. But this quiet concert is merely a prelude.

When the first of many great rainstorms arrives, unleashing its mighty anthem, each species of tree makes its own sound in the wind and rain. Even the largest of the raindrops may never strike the ground. Nearly 300 feet overhead, high in the forest canopy, the leaves and bark absorb much of the moisture … until this aerial sponge becomes saturated and drops re-form and descend farther … striking lower branches and cascading onto sound-absorbing moss drapes … tapping on epiphytic ferns … faintly plopping on huckleberry bushes … and whacking the hard, firm salal leaves … before, finally, the drops inaudibly bend the delicate clover-like leaves of the wood sorrel and drip to leak into the ground. Heard day or night, this liquid ballet will continue for more than an hour after the actual rain ceases.

Recalling the warning of Robert Koch, developer of the scientific method that identifies the causes of disease, I believe the unchecked loss of silence is a canary in a coal mine-a global one. If we cannot make a stand here, if we turn a deaf ear to the issue of vanishing natural quiet, how can we expect to fare better with more complex environmental crises?

This article originally appeared in On Being, and is reprinted with permission. On Being is a Peabody Award-winning public radio conversation and podcast, a Webby Award-winning website and online exploration, a publisher and public event convener.  
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Ramesan T Feb 20, 2015
Amazing Article ! The contents so described are soul touching and capable enough to arouse the inner feeling of a sincere reader and a thinking man...This was the reason why our great saints and Hermits used to leave the cities and towns and migrated to the valleys and on the lap of great mountains to find the eternal truth...They were realizing that Silence is Golden and its sound is rhythmic but one need to have a pair of sensitive ears to listen those vibrant music of the nature....We do not need instruments to accompany and throat breaking noise or sound to catch anybody's attention. Instead we will learn the melodious songs of cuckoos, bellowing of cattle and similar sounds which will never break any body's journey for the silence. It is certainly soul searching to enter into a silent place and keep on listening and looking....one will automatically immerse in the soul of the mother nature..How beautiful that moment would be....It is to be experienced...So be away from the mad... [View Full Comment]
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LightHearted1 Feb 18, 2015
Beautiful! I live in SW Colorado surrounded by national forest & wilderness. I was struck on 9/11 when all the planes were grounded by the silence. In Bali they have a day a year when no planes fly, transportation & commercial activity stops. 24/7 commerce & non-stop human activity is a plague. I experience great blessings in having moments where the inner Silence of conscious awareness & the outer silence of moments here on the outskirts of so-called civilization I hear nothing but the sounds of nature, even their activity stills at times. The lake frozen over functions as a sound chamber making eerie mystifying sounds. Something occurs in body & soul in the naturalness. We are such amazing beings of consciousness, love & light and of human spirit, and creatures of the natural world also. Stop to smell the roses. Taste the wind. Touch the bark of a tree, the pine needles softness. See the natural light of sun, moon & stars. And listen, listen from the qu... [View Full Comment]
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Cynthia Feb 16, 2015

Thank you, DailyGood and Gordon Hempton, for this beautiful piece. I will return to it often. And some day I hope to visit One Square Inch. Remembering Phillip Levine, who passed away Saturday -- here's a stanza from one his poems, Our Valley, that honors the immensity of silence. Thank you Phillip Levine. Peace all.

"You probably think I’m nuts saying the mountains have no word for ocean,
but if you live here you begin to believe they know everything.
They maintain that huge silence we think of as divine,
a silence that grows in autumn when snow falls
slowly between the pines and the wind dies
to less than a whisper and you can barely catch
your breath because you’re thrilled and terrified."

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Iris Curteis Feb 16, 2015

Thank you for debunking the misconception that silence is soundless. I think that, ultimately, listening to silence is mindfulness, meditation, presencing ...

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Ricky Feb 16, 2015
I live in the PacificNorthwest, and have all my 58 years. I teach in a local high school, andget to share yoga as a PE elective. I have had a long standing focus foryoga that it is quiet and without music, which is viewed at first by the studentsas unfair and unheard of. Students atfirst are frightened and surprised by how loud their personal thoughts are inthe silence of the yoga room, and then begin to crave the absence oftechnology-driven distraction. I teach walking classes as a PE elective,and the students are not allowed to listen to music and plug their ears withearbuds or headphones (for ‘exercise’ motivation if you can imagine), nor evenhave their phones with them (some drop the class because they are unable to dothis). We are located within the noisepollution radius of the freeway, an expanding airport, and relentless increasesin coal/oil trains. We walk sidewalksalong streets with cars whizzing by, in close proximity to the hospitalhelipad, and recently drones just... [View Full Comment]
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