A Moment Of Silence

Eleven years ago, on Memorial Day weekend, I got married. Just two weeks earlier, my father-in-law had passed away. I remember the bittersweetness of the ceremony, as we took time to remember him and those who could no longer be with us. Our wedding was small and intimate, creating a space that allowed room for both celebration and sadness. At the end of the day, we held each other and reflected on life, its beginnings and endings. 

Life and Death, or in Taoism, Yin and Yang. Darkness and Light defining one another.

Stemming from the Civil War, Memorial Day has historically been a time to remember those who have fallen in battle. In 2020, Memorial Day took on new significance with the death of George Floyd.

In contrast to the weight of the day, we see a lot of ads for special sales—retail therapy on a day of remembrance. In a way, it makes sense. Death is uncomfortable, and loss is hard. Easy actions like shopping can be a welcome distraction, maybe even a subconscious way to balance the energy: Loss and Gain, Emptiness and Substance, Yin and Yang. 

Life and Death 

Light and Darkness

Sound and Silence

These dyads define each other. Without one, we would not understand the other as well. 

In these days of social media, we all have a platform to sound off on. There are many powerful words and concepts to share (and a lot of pressure to share). But as with all things, we need the counterpoint in order to find form.

While sound can feel alive, activating, action-oriented, and directs our attention somewhere, silence can feel receptive, open, and sometimes confusing. Silence can be challenging. When we are nervous, we often have the impulse to make small talk, to fidget, to fill the silence.

But when we want to honor those who are no longer with us, we give them a moment of silence. A powerful time to pause, to sit with the feeling of the empty space—a space that aches with their absence.

"Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything."

– Gordon Hempton

This Memorial Day, when I am reminded of death—often senseless, rooted in war and division—I am called to invite in the weight of silence. Before I make moves to distract myself from the sadness, I am remembering to let its gravity settle in me, so that it won’t be forgotten so easily. So that I can learn from it.