The colors of silence

Recently, I have had the luxury of time while hanging out in assorted airports across the country. Normally, I bury myself in a book, attempting to block out sound and stimulation while I create a bubble of self containment. However, on this particular weekend, fatigue presided. I was too tired to read. So, I sit and watch the comings and goings of my airport comrades-in-travel.

I felt like one of those cute little parakeets swinging on a bar in my shiny new cage as I take in the view, which, for me, on this particular weekend, were the interior landscapes of a variety of airline terminals across the country.

The river of travelers, family members, airline personnel and airport workers surge forward and back, backward and forth. There is constant movement, and this flow of folks becomes a blur of shape, size and color. With yin, there is yang. There is the seemingly stationary pool of passengers who nestle into the banks of departure lounge chairs, restaurant booths, bar stools and baggage claim areas. They blend into the environment, like more green in the forest.

My sight is inundated with this ever-changing tableau of activity and inactivity. I can no longer discriminate what is in my line of vision. My attention is diverted. Like a cloth softly slid across my birdcage, my vision has been truncated; all I can focus on is the noise, the loud, loud noise.

There is the clickety-clack of shoes, rolly suitcases, and wheeled carts along the terminal concourses. There are the mechanical buzzes and beeps of cash registers, fast food prep and motorized walkways. There is constant talking, be it the incessant cell phone chatter, the imperative p.a. system announcements and non-stop streams of conversation. There are the muffled sounds of planes being fueled and serviced; there are the muted roars of take-offs and the thump, thump, thump of arrivals. The noise is demanding and pervasive, a force unto itself. I wonder about increased baffling, acoustical tiles, carpeting and upholstery to absorb the sound. The noise becomes a discordant din played like some kind of edgy jazz.

Then, the whole gestalt begins to shift. The foreground noises slide into the background, like Muzac on an elevator. Silence creeps in front and center. There are the shy silences of hello and the fierce silences of good-bye. There is the familiar silence of strangers, and the deafening, emotion-choked silence between intimates. The varieties of silence fan themselves like tail feathers of a peacock -- beautiful in their quiescent intensity -- and show me their colors.

There is the faded gray of fatigue that is like the well-worn, somewhat frayed and frequently washed gym tee shirt that holds the stains of sweat and tears. The gray silence has no more energy to continue the connection, be it battle or embrace. There is nothing left to prolong; there is no further engagement. The gray silence is tired. It is beyond words and actions; it is surrender, resignation and withdrawal.

The silence of fear is the mottled muddle of yellow, red, orange and blue that becomes a brown puddle, reminiscent of an adult´s first foray in watercolors when you try too hard to make it pretty. This muddy stillness lurks in knotted muscles, shallow breaths, racing hearts and restless limbs. This silence is palpable; it is agitated, contracted and withdrawn. You can feel the tension of its pent-up fear and anxiety as it twitches and paces

Then, there is the coppery glaze of silent grief. It tries hard not to show its underbelly in its shine, but the pinched eyes, pursed lips and the sodden weight of a heavy heart show the tarnish of tear stains and shriveled tissues. This silence is distant, privately held and close to the heart. It glints with history and memory.

The silence of fullness is colored blue. All the shades and hues of blue, from robin´s egg to lake water to night sky; the entire spectrum of azure, sapphire and cerulean tones fill this broad and all-encompassing peaceful silence. Blue is comfortable, and stuffed with smiling eyes and spontaneous laughter, connection and wholeness. It is complete and present, like the far-reaching canopy of a summer sky. Blue silence hums in perfect contentment; it needs no words or actions.

And there is the fire of passionate silence when words are superfluous, and touch holds all meaning. This silence is held between lovers. It is personal and, usually, not so private; it is easy to notice. This silence sparks red and orange and gold; it exudes heat and urgency, and, often, gifts onlookers with an inward smile of familiarity. This fiery silence pulsates with energy and promise that will, undoubtedly, find breathy sound in a future moment.

Last, but never least, is the sparkly pink silence of unconditional love. It is seen in soft eyes, wide smiles, full hugs and meaningful clasps of shoulders. This silence is easy to feel. It is warming and safe. Pink holds no judgment, harbors no resentment. This silence accepts completely and cleanly, and can be seen in the welcome of a grandmother, brother finding brother, sister meeting sister. This silence twinkles with children running pell-mell towards dad or holding mom´s hand. Pink silence holds years and years of shared adventures between good friends; it spreads its sparkly nature out like a wave of warmth that embraces you after being in the cold. This silence is inviting and uplifting; some, even, consider it to be contagious.

More than likely, there will be a day when you find yourself hanging out at an airport or someplace similar, waiting for the next step of your adventure. You will have had a snack, leafed through your reading material, completed all of your calls and await a departure or an arrival. May I suggest this experiment on attention? Allow the din of the terminal or station to melt into the background. Now, focus on the spaces of quiet. Allow yourself to listen to the silence, and watch the colors parade in front of you.

copyright 2008 by Adele Ryan McDowell