Silence

Silence is...
space
what is left when words have fled
a cloud across a cobalt curve of sky
pregnant
laboring to bring forth a star
seeming hours tentatively filled with dreamful musing
action
bright stallion of fancy
synapses syncing across the space of minds
doubt
grasping, reaching, striving, chasing vanity wind
drifting through a stream of channeled thought
hope
half-ramblings coalescing into idea
tendrils of creeping vine seeking solid substance, supporting blossoms 
void
halfway glimmering
on a just-cool autumn's eve


Don't worry if this doesn't make any sense to you, especially the last stanza. It was the product of a random mood + thoughts on silence + having tried to help Amy out with imagery for her literature studies :-). What I was trying to convey overall was the ambiguity of our thoughts on silence. It is the best friend of old lovers and close companions yet shunned otherwise~
Here is what began these thoughts: comparison of classes. I was in two "interactive" classes (calculus and - especially - chemistry) and three "discussion based" classes (English, Freshman Seminar, and "Liberal Study" on art). In one discussion class, we actually had a discussion. In one 'discussion' class we answered questions. In one interactive class we actually interacted, in the other we listened (and laughed) - and one of the major differences between those classes was silence. My English class was probably my favorite class. My teacher provided occasional guidance, but otherwise, in discussion, acted as if she were solely part of the group. (It helps that she had a talkative group, too). When she asked a question, she waited to hear our thoughts before she spoke, if she spoke, and she encouraged silence. Yep, you read that right. She encouraged us to (voluntarily) "shut ourselves up" to create silence (she calls it "space") for others to think & talk. All of my other teachers were more or less afraid of silence (or too rushed to give it time to ferment ideas or bring about memory). My chemistry teacher succeeded fairly well, and again it was because of silence. But his was a tensed, rushed silence as we feverishly search our mental annals for whatever factoid he was interested in; it was not contemplative silence, and was easily truncated if he was in a hurry ~ but I must be fair, too, to his environment, which was completely different from the humanities department :-).