Sha shtil
And now, two perspectives on silence...
Syd Barrett died a few days ago. There's something appropriate about the fact that no one seems to know exactly when.
He gave Pink Floyd its voice in the band's early years with his guitar playing, singing and songwriting, all of them genuinely innovative. At some point (this being the mid-60s), he took to ingesting a little too much in the way of pharmaceuticals. Next thing you know he stood motionless onstage all through Floyd concerts, or played the same shattering chord all night. Rumor has it that he even played an utterly nonsensical solo one night, which upon later examination proved to be the correct solo, played backwards.
Genius or not, his antics proved too much for the rest of the band. They brought in David Gilmour, who eventually replaced Syd altogether, and turned over the bulk of the writing and musical/lyrical direction to Roger Waters. Syd made a couple of confusing, sporadically brilliant records of his own and went home to his mother's basement.
A well-known story tells us that one day he rejoined Floyd in the studio, during the recording of "Shine On You Crazy Diamond," a song about him. In the ensuing years he had gained weight and shaved all his hair off, including his eyebrows. His old bandmates didn't recognize him at first.
Musically, not a peep since the 70's. Syd joins a small cadre of artists who produce extraordinary work, then suddenly fall silent and occasionally disappear altogether for years. You take people like Jean Sibelius, Harper Lee, Henry Roth and Gioacchino Rossini, and you have to wonder what shuts them up. In some cases it's mental illness, but there are others whom mental illness drives to incredible activity, so that's not a good enough explanation. What does silence do for them that communication cannot?
Which brings us to the case of Meher Baba.
His followers claim, as he himself did, that he was the living embodiment of God Himself. I don't buy that for one second, but at the very least he seems to have avoided any of the hypocrisy that so many "gods" fall into. He did not live in luxury while his followers put up with squalor; he did not exert control over all aspects of his followers' lives unless they wanted to join his inner circle, nor did he ask them to die for him; he did not collect gold Rolls Royces or rare stamps or anything like that; to the best of my knowledge he did not sexually abuse his followers; he rarely even spoke. And there, as they say, is the rub.
July 10 was the anniversary of his vow of silence, taken in 1925 and kept until his death 44 years later. This doesn't mean he refrained from communicating, though. He used an alphabet board, later a system of gestures, and he wrote several books. But he didn't speak.
He apparently claimed that this silence, rather than a sacrifice, formed an integral part of his being as an avatar of God. I, for one, am inclined to believe that at any rate it formed an integral part of his spiritual journey.
So what's the value of silence, and what is its proper use?
I don't know that either Syd or Baba give us a final answer to that question, but it does bring to mind one experience from some years ago:
I attended an event designed to introduce the Landmark Forum, a course I had taken some years before. I really wanted more people to do the course, because I had found it so profoundly impactful. That afternoon, though, in addition to the introduction leader and the owner of the house we were in, we only had one guest, which made three enrollers and one potential enrollee.
Oddly enough, that was the same circumstance I had found myself in when considering doing the course in my turn; there was me, the friend who had invited me, the introduction leader and another person. I was all set to feel ganged up on, but the other person said nothing whatsoever all night. She was attentive and obviously interested, but silent. So I decided to do the same thing, which wasn't easy for a verbal type like me.
It was a great night, though. A lot of smiles and laughter from everyone, including our guest, and I learned that I can make a contribution to the proceedings without donating my infinite wisdom. In fact, I can often make a much greater contribution to the proceedings by being still.
At first glance, we'd probably say that Syd fell silent because he had nothing to say, and Baba fell silent because he wanted to listen. I wonder if it might not have been the other way round.
Benshlomo says, What do you hear, what do you say?
Syd Barrett died a few days ago. There's something appropriate about the fact that no one seems to know exactly when.
He gave Pink Floyd its voice in the band's early years with his guitar playing, singing and songwriting, all of them genuinely innovative. At some point (this being the mid-60s), he took to ingesting a little too much in the way of pharmaceuticals. Next thing you know he stood motionless onstage all through Floyd concerts, or played the same shattering chord all night. Rumor has it that he even played an utterly nonsensical solo one night, which upon later examination proved to be the correct solo, played backwards.
Genius or not, his antics proved too much for the rest of the band. They brought in David Gilmour, who eventually replaced Syd altogether, and turned over the bulk of the writing and musical/lyrical direction to Roger Waters. Syd made a couple of confusing, sporadically brilliant records of his own and went home to his mother's basement.
A well-known story tells us that one day he rejoined Floyd in the studio, during the recording of "Shine On You Crazy Diamond," a song about him. In the ensuing years he had gained weight and shaved all his hair off, including his eyebrows. His old bandmates didn't recognize him at first.
Musically, not a peep since the 70's. Syd joins a small cadre of artists who produce extraordinary work, then suddenly fall silent and occasionally disappear altogether for years. You take people like Jean Sibelius, Harper Lee, Henry Roth and Gioacchino Rossini, and you have to wonder what shuts them up. In some cases it's mental illness, but there are others whom mental illness drives to incredible activity, so that's not a good enough explanation. What does silence do for them that communication cannot?
Which brings us to the case of Meher Baba.
His followers claim, as he himself did, that he was the living embodiment of God Himself. I don't buy that for one second, but at the very least he seems to have avoided any of the hypocrisy that so many "gods" fall into. He did not live in luxury while his followers put up with squalor; he did not exert control over all aspects of his followers' lives unless they wanted to join his inner circle, nor did he ask them to die for him; he did not collect gold Rolls Royces or rare stamps or anything like that; to the best of my knowledge he did not sexually abuse his followers; he rarely even spoke. And there, as they say, is the rub.
July 10 was the anniversary of his vow of silence, taken in 1925 and kept until his death 44 years later. This doesn't mean he refrained from communicating, though. He used an alphabet board, later a system of gestures, and he wrote several books. But he didn't speak.
He apparently claimed that this silence, rather than a sacrifice, formed an integral part of his being as an avatar of God. I, for one, am inclined to believe that at any rate it formed an integral part of his spiritual journey.
So what's the value of silence, and what is its proper use?
I don't know that either Syd or Baba give us a final answer to that question, but it does bring to mind one experience from some years ago:
I attended an event designed to introduce the Landmark Forum, a course I had taken some years before. I really wanted more people to do the course, because I had found it so profoundly impactful. That afternoon, though, in addition to the introduction leader and the owner of the house we were in, we only had one guest, which made three enrollers and one potential enrollee.
Oddly enough, that was the same circumstance I had found myself in when considering doing the course in my turn; there was me, the friend who had invited me, the introduction leader and another person. I was all set to feel ganged up on, but the other person said nothing whatsoever all night. She was attentive and obviously interested, but silent. So I decided to do the same thing, which wasn't easy for a verbal type like me.
It was a great night, though. A lot of smiles and laughter from everyone, including our guest, and I learned that I can make a contribution to the proceedings without donating my infinite wisdom. In fact, I can often make a much greater contribution to the proceedings by being still.
At first glance, we'd probably say that Syd fell silent because he had nothing to say, and Baba fell silent because he wanted to listen. I wonder if it might not have been the other way round.
Benshlomo says, What do you hear, what do you say?
posted by benshlomo at 11:04 AM
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