Yesterday I was at a red traffic light, a block from Buford
Hwy, my car behind a large tanker truck, hauling gasoline. I stopped at the red light under the overpass
that serves as part of the railway system that runs parallel to Buford
Highway. I’ve been at this red light
many times during my short commute to the Buford Farmer’s Market.
The stop at the light was like nothing I’ve ever experienced
before. It was a strange and unsettling 30 to 45 seconds. I had my windows
open, the mid-day temperature crisp. A nice autumn breeze decorated the
day. When I pulled behind the tanker and
came to a stop, I was assaulted by the loudest noise I’ve ever heard in my
life, or at least the loudest that I can remember.
There was a train running on the tracks above, it was going
fast and it was magnanimously loud. If I weren’t able to quickly discern the
source of the sound, I would’ve been afraid and I would’ve panicked. The volume and roar was loud, it was
everywhere, the car was moving, my teeth were vibrating, the moments were strange
and powerful.
I am extremely noise sensitive and this tiny 30 to 45 second
experience raised my blood pressure and heart rate. My mind immediately went to what else could
sound like this ? I’ve heard many people say that tornadoes sound like freight
trains. I imagine that standing next to the jet engine of a 747 would be loud
and uncomfortable. The noise yesterday was part roar, part mechanical, stadium
loud and physical. I felt the sounds everywhere.
And then, as fast as the sound surrounded every inch of my consciousness,
it went away. Not sure how far the train
was beyond the tracks, but in an instant, the day was again quiet.
The stage of this surreal set, the temporary red traffic
light under the overpass, was quiet and tranquil in an instant. The silence was familiar, soothing and comforting.
I felt strangely reassured that everything the world was going to be OK. My active imagination went from zero to sixty and back in
mere seconds.
I like silence, I like quiet. I’ve always been this way.
Perhaps it’s the reflection or the opportunity to pause all
things that engage and require attention. I know we are all wired differently
in this respect.
While I enjoy silence, I also favor interpretations of
silence. Or sounds that keep silence
company. I like the song of running
water, fountains, waves, rivers and streams.
I like the melody of soft breezes.
I like the play of strong winds.
With respect to actual sounds, one of my favorites, the
rhythm of Maddie and Morgan breathing when they’re sleeping. I know this comes from me taking naps with my
MOM, long, long ago when we lived in Panama.
During naps, I would play a game with myself, getting my breaths in
synch with hers, she never knew I was speeding up or slowing down to be on par
with the rhythm of her inhale and exhale. I remember getting as close as I
could to her in the bed, so I could take my breaths at the same time she did. I must have been 9 or 10 years old.
I love the nurturing, social sound of burning wood in a fireplace
on extremely cold days. I thoroughly enjoy silence interrupted by fast and
furious raindrops. Add the presence of a tin roof, and its a
symphony.
When Morgan drinks water, the sounds of her satiation are palpable. Now that I am with her throughout most of the
day, I anticipate her visits to the water bowl. The chorus of her thirst being quenched
invites the listener to take notice.
One of the quietest places I’ve been recently, the Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. In between the music sets, you can hear people turning pages in their programs. And coughs and sneezes are loud eruptions of sorts. The silence in that hall certainly engineered by technical masters of sound. The relationship between sound and silence during the performances by the Los Angeles Philharmonic is magnificent.
All of these thoughts on sound and silence prompted by my
brief stop at the red light. Interesting how the mind goes to the filing cabinet of memories and
associations to make sense of fear and anxiety.
I know when I reached the market I actually sat in my car for a bit to
think about what had happened.
I was the loudest 30 to 45 seconds of my entire life.
I was the loudest 30 to 45 seconds of my entire life.
