When you hear it (so to speak), it transcends you. It’s an immediate zen moment that only the most remote reaches of nature can provide; away from people, away from chattering, away from road noise and cars trying to sound much bigger than they are. It even comes when you’re away from air traffic overhead if you’re lucky enough to have such a window. And it’s not just artificial noises you need to escape from. Flowing water, birds chirping, and bugs buzzing all contribute to some kind of interference with pure silence, something that roots you into your environment. This is probably why I have become so fond of Capitol Reef National Park in recent years. The silence is so easily found in such an underrated parks that you can’t help but feel more human just by being up on top of the Waterpocket Fold, the prominent geologic wonderland for which the park was created. In fact this reminder came to me while on top of the Waterpocket Fold overlooking Cassidy Arch, hundreds of feet above the surrounding landscape.
Most people when experiencing true silence for the first time (and even subsequent times) immediately flood the silence with the exact opposite sensation: yelling and screaming and testing echoes, never actually allowing themselves to be immersed in the stillness of the environment. They’re missing out on something that is inevitably and innately human that millions of people don’t even realize. It’s actually a very similar subject to light pollution. You may be able to experience silence in a room, but it’s infinitely more rewarding when it’s outside, just like you can see an amazing photo of the night sky, but you can’t really comprehend what’s in the photo until you see it with your own eyes. The problem is that both are hard to find for most people, even though each was always an essential part of human existence. Now they’re so rare, people are required to go to great lengths just to get a sampling of them.
With an absence of noise comes something unexpected. When the only sound is the faint ringing in your ears, it becomes amplified, an experience incomprehensibly far from the normal day to day routines of life. With the mind so accustomed to hearing something in the background, it begins to search frantically for something to listen to. Anything. Is that normal, or is that the effect of hearing too much noise each day? I don’t have that answer. Under those conditions though, you can hear a fly buzzing from dozens of yards away. Your sense of hearing becomes exemplary. In moments like those you wonder if there’s a side-effect to human health in hearing constant noise on such a permanent basis.
It’s easy to think of non-natural sounds creating stress on the natural world as a loud bang or a loud engine roaring by. What goes more unnoticed is the stress from always hearing something and never getting a break from it, not unlike constantly being exposed to light and never getting to experience true darkness. It’s no wonder people tend to link noise pollution and light pollution together. Perhaps this is why I always feel the need to get back to the desert southwest fairly regularly. Silence and real night skies can be so easily found there.
Whatever the case, there’s definitely something cleansing about not just experiencing pure silence, but being aware of it too and actually relishing in it.