The heart breathes but without letters, without words. Yet, we find these breaths to be the most influential discourse, the most enchanting music. Our hearts’ breaths have an articulation that has not been spoken yet, nor has it ever been heard; an accent that has never been penned down or typeset, but is more breathtaking than all forms of conversation. So breathtaking that those who are able to articulate with them do not try any other form of communication, and those who can understand their language do not feel the need to search for another. There are people of letters or orators who express themselves with their power of articulation and eloquence; and there are others who are nothing but charlatans who communicate with demagoguery to manipulate masses. If these people were able to perceive the magic deep in the breaths of their hearts, they would not waste their lives on those winding and dangerous roads; they would instead turn to their hearts and strike the plectrum with their power of thinking to play the melodies therein.
Alas, this is an age of noise and people try to communicate with the language of this age. Yes, today the world all over is groaning with the worst of sounds. Buses, trains, bulldozers, milling machines, boats, airplanes, radio and TV sets … all of these wonders of our civilization are not only harming our atmosphere but also our peace and calm. Not only that, but these devices have also made us act like them, too. Many of us speak without feeling, and our voices are as loud as these machines. People are shouting at each other as if everyone has gone deaf. We seem to be trying to suppress others with our voices. There is no respect to what others think or feel. Those who play with words to be louder are considered successful and rewarded. Whether what they say is of any use or not does not matter; it is fine as long as they make some noise and move the masses.
Once upon a time, silence and calm were once our natural state of being, the usual climate. Many were not aware of that peace, that music of silence, just as now they cannot perceive the high-pitched clamor all around. Back then in that quiet climate, only the most natural of voices were heard and people would lend an ear as if they were listening to a poem or a song. This state had permeated the souls of people, who bathed in those natural sounds several times each day, to such an extent that there would never be noise pollution in their climate, and no one ever took kindly to screaming and shouting. Everywhere would be full to the brim with peace, and everyone would breathe quietude. Such a reverential and genteel serenity prevailed in their atmosphere that those stopping by and sipping one or two drops of silence never again thought of leaving.
The people back then were not yet acquainted with these wonders of civilization; they didn’t know anything at all about the unique features of these garrulous things. It was all quiet, and people were in perfect alignment with it. Everywhere they went, they sipped a silence as white as milk and received signs of quiet from everyone they called upon. The fortunate ones of that age who pursued a heavenly life free from all sorts of impropriety displayed such an articulate state of silence that the harmony of this quiet poem could on no account be ruined by any external noise that might occur in their surroundings, even if rarely.
These people spoke, too, only when they had to use words and statements to unpack the meanings seeping from their spiritual states, to explain obscure feelings, and to clarify truths hidden to those without eyes. They would not open their mouths often; when they did, they would lay out and present the lace they wove during their states of silence and offer jewels of wisdom from the crystals of silence to those listening to them.
In this pristine atmosphere, there was neither an evil spark piercing that refulgent air, nor a rusty sound or an unseemly noise that could be heard. Even if occasionally a voice or sound completely foreign to that climate ruptured this air, those people and their enchanting atmosphere would immediately change, as though being magically renewed, returning to its previous form and continuing to emanate anew. With the silent speeches they expressed with the language of their hearts, they enraptured all the spirits they were able to reach like the angelic inspirations pouring forth from the firmaments. Those who had the honor of acquaintance with them would not say, “I have heard, listened, read, learned, and believed.” Instead, they would say, “I have seen, felt, been mesmerized, and I have become.” It was by virtue of this superiority, which was contingent upon their state and profundity of heart, that everyone easily understood what they meant, whether their language was known or not, and became entranced along with them. They were already closely connected with the community; but even when they are secluded in a corner for introspection, they still continue to pour embers into people’s hearts to enlighten them, and their voice is heard in their soul as resounding as the sur, the Trumpet of Resurrection. The silence of these purest of people in constant connection with God was like a command, as it were, for the motivation of people experiencing reticence of the heart and spirit. When they poured forth the hidden treasures in their hearts by means of their manner and conduct, in exchange for the quietening of a single tongue, many tongues would become untangled at that moment, hearts unprejudiced and receptive would harken and a stupendous rapture would begin to effervesce in every direction. Their silence was such a profound music enthusing spirits that it swept everyone tasting that atmosphere before it, led them in whatever direction it wanted, allowed them to hear melodies that could not be heard from anyone else, and enabled them to experience surprises yet unnamed. Those around them would take away a great many things from their silent address, journey through the boundless horizons of different meanings, concepts and implications not constrained by verbal expressions, and would feel a depth in proportion to their hearts.
Among those silent ones were individuals whose gaze radiated light, whose faces carried flowing meanings, and whose manner held an enchanted depth—such that anyone who perceived these would be immediately captivated and would never wish to leave them. Those nourished by this silent poetry perceived everything differently, through the lens of faithful thought and a believer’s reasoning, and reached a deeper joy in contemplation.
Personally, there have been some of those great silent ones who left a mark on my life, but it is difficult for me to claim that I have truly come to really “know” them, thus I could not duly benefit from them. I must confess, nonetheless, that despite all my incapacity as a receiver, whilst in their atmosphere I witnessed and felt such mysterious things, n a manner sometimes hazy, sometimes indistinct, but always enchanting, and pouring into my spirit like drops of dew, that I still shudder at each recollection of them even after all the years that have passed. They spoke but without letters or words, without sound or speech, and I was so enraptured that as I remember those radiant faces even today, my eyes well with tears, and melodies from those silent ones begin to resound in my spirit. And I start pushing the boundaries of my natural capacity to go beyond what I am and delve into the dreams of what I can be.
