Humans are the noisy animal
Not a quote so much as an idea attributed to Colin Fletcher in “The Man Who Walked Through Time”
After spending the morning hearing about statistical significance and p values, there was a break in the morning sessions so I grabbed a sandwich and began a search for a quiet place. The lobby was crammed with people and the chairs were occupied either by humans or their backpacks. I found myself at the terrace that overlooked the Hillsborough River. I claimed two chairs (I have a backpack too) at an empty table. It was sunny, a bit breezy, not too humid, and… quiet… sort of. My neighbors were busy connecting with the interweb but otherwise, the spot was free of distractions; conditions necessary for consuming a sandwich and theology about the essence of God. I pulled out a book and began to read a bit; Heschel’s Man Is Not Alone. Maybe a little deep for lunchtime but it’s what I had.
I have a conscious routine when I approach stillness. I sit, take a few deep breaths, and begin to take in the world around me; the sights, sounds, smells, touches. My first awareness was the brilliant colors of the cityscape in the bright morning sunlight, the river calm and free of traffic. Then I noticed a low roar. It was more of a hum really – the combined frequencies of traffic, HVAC systems, unseen machinery of all types – yet it was all indistinct and my brain soon filtered it. Then a small landscape machine began to move dirt and rocks. A ski boat came down the river, rap music pulsing out of speakers fit for a rock concert. A parent inside the conference center was unsuccessfully trying to console a crying infant just inside of where I was sitting. Suddenly my neighbor at the next table over got a phone call, sharing her side of the conversation loudly with the rest of us on the terrace.
One thing I have learned through sauntering in the wilderness is just how much our world is filled with noise. Even now, I am enjoying a quiet morning in my backyard with the sweet accompaniment of birdsong, a soft breeze teasing the trees, and the staccato rhythm of a woodpecker’s morning task. These sounds belong. They are blessings of creation that exist on their own; creatures acting according to their nature, participating in the heartbeat of the planet. It brings comfort. It clears the mind and makes room for reflection. Yet, there is always that low hum in the background. A truck rolls by a half mile away, an airplane flies over, and the mail truck goes by. Another plane flies over. This noise, this unwanted sound, is ever present in the background. But I have learned to filter the hum and still enjoy the quiet morning… until… my wife starts up the lawn mower in my own yard!!!!!!! Ironical!
One day, humans moved inside. Since there were more people than available caves, they built their own boxes. Then they decided it was better for a lot of humans to live together and communities were created, which led to Chambers of Commerce, politics and lawyers (a profound source of unwanted sound). Thousands of years went by until one particular human, Thomas Newcomen, used a steam engine to pump water our of coal mines. A few years later, another human named Michael Faraday, figured out how to generate electricity in a way that was different (and safer) than when Benjamin Franklin played with lightening. Joseph Henry, figured out how to use this electricity to make a metal rod rotate and the electric motor was born. Robert Street burned gasoline to do the same thing. Now we have factories, cars, airplanes, blow dryers, food processors, leaf blowers, power plants, beard trimmers and trains. And we have noise.
I love technology. Human ingenuity has expanded our comfort and safety. We have been given the gift of reflection and curiosity, which has led us to discover and look for our own beginnings. Humans have developed the ability to better understand our relationship with the Creator and the creation through the aid of our inventions. We send rockets into space with powerful telescopes that can look back through time. We ride airplanes that can take us across vast distances to wild places where we walk in the quite afternoon in the presence of God. We write blogs using devices that communicate through the air and connect with a worldwide network of other devices, giving us instant access to information on every conceivable topic. For this, we pay a huge price. A price that, the total value of which, is yet to be counted and one that will impact our future in ways that will likely change where our families vacation at the beach.
Meanwhile, the issue at hand is the price we pay in noise and it is not limited to sound. Our senses are inundated with perhaps 4,000 ads per day. This incessant background hum seems to have the power of addiction in that our brains are now wired to need constant stimulation. A teenager in the airplane seat next to me had a movie going on his smartphone while he started up a video game on another device with earbuds from each connecting to his brain. My daughter scolds me because I don’t keep my mobile device with me at every waking moment so she can contact me instantly if she needs advice about her car repairs. Dad-i-pedia is a thing.
Humans need stillness. Yet stillness is not available through instant access. Google renders over 24 million hits on the word but none of those links actually connects you with the experience. Our modern existence has inadvertently conspired to make stillness a rarity and our addiction to stimulation has all but eliminated our awareness of the need for it. Just put on the “noise cancelling” ear phones to pump more rap music into our brains.
We have to actively seek out stillness, something we have to make time for and make an effort to get to. This means we have to remember that we were created with the need for stillness and its absence in our being is the reason for our anxieties and discontent.
I always wanted to write a song about Stillness but Don Henley beat me to it and I don’t have anything to add to it. Give this a listen: Learn to be Still
I am that I am not…
wildsabbath.com 