Keeping Silent

Of all the challenges of interpersonal relationships, nothing is as disturbing as being told one must not speak. As long as the door to communication is ajar, one has hopes of making oneself understood, of bridging differences in perspective, of growing in mutual appreciation. But when that door is shut, no conciliatory handshake is possible. One feels not only devalued, but helpless. To be told one can’t walk where conversation leads is both dismaying and ominous. Missteps in communication can often be remedied by reciprocal moves towards common ground. But if one is not permitted to use the ladder of verbal exchange to hoist oneself out of a hole, one must stay where one falls. Finding oneself stuck in a pit, one might recall the story of miners, trapped in blackness, singing. Whether their songs directed rescuers or merely lifted their own personal courage, human voices countered the darkness. Lyricist Paul Simon perceptively linked silence with "darkness, my old friend" And, like darkness, silence can be a treacherous comrade.


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(Ballad of Springhill, Barbara Dickson)... "There's no more water nor light nor bread, So we'll live on hope and songs instead."...
(Sounds of Silence, Paul Simon) "Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk to you again..."