Why are people afraid of silence?

We can not bear the stress of silence ... (Mandelstam)

I sit on a train from Moscow to St. Petersburg. I came before the other passengers, and now watch as they enter the car, to find their seats, undress and put their suitcases and bags in the baggage compartments and, in general, are busy in every way. All of them, especially the young, are charged with one rhythm, one energy which is splashing them, overflows, spills in jokes, laughter, vigorous movements.

But everyone was seated, the mourners left the car, and the train starts to move slowly and gradually picks up speed. And it is here that something is beginning to happen to me incomprehensible. Something funny and somewhat disturbing.

Once alone with himself and his immobility, which dictates the position you as a passenger on a very limited and numbered spot, the passengers, as if on cue climb in bags, pockets, took out his cell phone and pinned down in them.

It looks strange. Whether funny, or scary.

Psychosis is gaining momentum, and most begin to someone to call and report that they are already in train and are on their way. Then, when the collective roll call is completed, the owners of mobile phones sit for a while, quite pointless to first plug the small screen and clutching their toys, as in life preservers. Someone out there is spinning game, and someone - and there, but it is necessary that some continue to do, to participate in "active life", a word to be himself, but otherwise ...

Otherwise we risk to remain in silence.

So why are we so afraid of peace and quiet? Why do we feel uncomfortable when find ourselves alone with ourselves.

Why it becomes so desperately uncomfortable when life gives us such an opportunity?

Recently re-released a remarkable book by Belgian writer Maurice Metterlinka, the man, whose play about the Blue Bird still is in many stages of the world. The book is called "The Treasure of the humble", and in it there is another story about a train.

About how two passengers finding themselves in the same compartment, begin to feel a strange discomfort of silence and stillness. Mobile did not yet exist, and therefore both a hurry to start a conversation. Which - no matter. The most empty and miserable - but would not stay in this very silence, from which they are afraid, if only not to remain silent.

What is going on here? - They are afraid to be alone with the quiet truth about themselves - the writer says. - Truth - silent - he continues - and be alone with yourself in silence rather scary. Why? Yes, because we are with ourselves frankly boring and painfully uninteresting, and we need another to escape from the emptiness and worthlessness. This - at first.

Secondly, who said that we need the truth about himself and the world, who said that we so long to hear her quiet, not knowing the beginning and the end of the presence of uniting the entire world for its beauty and creative power - and the stars, and trees and the sea, and thy neighbor's journey? Sometimes, in poetry, music, or in moments of love will fly its presence, you will smile magic smile, flash unprecedented picture, well, pretty, and that's enough.

But unless we do not live in the truth, not in reality? - We ask ourselves. And I say - no. For the most part we run away from it, without even noticing.

Let's think a little bit. A little bit.

We communicate with each other and the world at 90 percent with the help of intelligence. We talk with others, order the tickets, ask for directions, write essays, exams and renting etc. ., Etc. -. All this intelligence, a good thing, but limited.

Now let us ask ourselves - at which time he was there? And we have to say that in the past. Because intelligence - it's just a memory, a memory of the past accumulated in the information. And so, when I rely on the intellect - and I do it most of the day - I, uh, I can not be at the point of "here and now", and where is the event itself, reality itself. Because I am in the intellect, and it is in the past, that has passed, which is now gone.

In short, I am in what is not, I am in a virtual space, cleverly separated from that which actually exists. In this virtual pause a lot of things spinning - the multiplication table, the memory of the get-togethers, a recent conversation, rules of conduct, the motive BG, the belief that Britney Spears - sucks, the memory of my grievances or joy, TV show, etc. And while I talk with others, I do turn the conversation your memory, your Virtual and the other feeds it to your virtual.

Therefore, psychologists and say, that people hear the interlocutor about 5-7 percent. The rest, 95 percent - their own thoughts.

Therefore, I say that all of us most of the time are inside a large virtual machine (without there e "The Matrix"), which they themselves create. And we all (almost all) it is satisfied - that is striking.

More than that - sitting down on the vanity as the needle, we hardly take out the silence and stillness. And if we were in silence - to the aid of a mobile, headphones or PDA ...

In silence there is one interesting property. She drags a person from the memory of the past, of the Virtual, of the confusion of thoughts and feelings and seeks to put him in a situation of "here and now", in reality the situation.

Silence seeks to recover a man of his right to be offering to abandon the requirement for a moment "to have". I remember once walking along Nevsky, I thought about the ten things at once, and suddenly it was the silence, and through me and the street, and people around flowed soundless music, and the world gained depth, mystery and meaning, and was flowing Life itself through me, and me nothing more in those few seconds it was not necessary. - Just let it remain, "- I muttered, - everything else is not important, just let it remain. Because it was happiness, which I started to cry. And I put on my sunglasses, so as not to frighten passersby its confusing them with happiness. Silence enveloped me then, and I - came to, and I - I saw.

Re-read Pushkin's poem "The Prophet" - it is about this. About how you find yourself in reality, more than home, shook, noisy, tortured and programmed.

"In the silence of God speaks its word", - another poet said. In the silence going on the meaning of our lives, and we meet with yourself with both the mystery and joy. And maybe one day heard in silence the word about ourselves, we do not want to part with him anymore, because it is out of the shallow water in the ocean everyday life, and the best of its islands, we have yet to discover.