Last weekend I went to State College’s College 9 movie theatre to see Martin Scorsese’s latest masterpiece—Silence starring Andrew Garfield and Adam Driver.
The film tells the story of two 17th century Jesuit priests who travel to Japan to spread their faith and find one of their own who is rumored to have apostatized in the face of death. The story revolves around their struggle to keep their faith despite the apparent silence of the god they devote themselves to. The movie’s most powerful scenes were the ones during which nothing was said.
On the quiet ride back to my dorm, I thought about the importance of silence in my own life and the world.
Those games on television when I watched my heroes and the roaring crowd stop and go silent for a moment as they honored a person or a group of people—their faces like statues and their arms over each other’s shoulders as the floodlights blared down on them.
The time when, after finishing Schindlers List in a humanities class in high school, the entire class sat in the dark classroom after the bell had rung, processing what they’d just seen wordlessly on a Friday afternoon.
My room at three in the morning after finally finishing a good book.
The cool, crisp quiet of a lake before the sun comes up.
And most recently, the arboretum. It’s hard to find privacy and real quiet here because of headphones and cramped dorms. But once you cross park avenue, the open space starts to appear, and it’s easier to listen to yourself. I woke up early on a Wednesday morning and went for a long run in the dark—out along the golf courses to the west, past the Nittany lion inn and eventually ended up at the arboretum.
The sun was just coming up as I stood in the middle of the little wooden bridge that crosses the marsh and the reeds. They were still covered in early morning frost and the morning flood of cars was turning onto the main campus roads as the horizon turned orange. And in the stillness, I didn’t feel cold. It felt like I was listening.
I don’t take enough time during the day to appreciate the silence that exists in simple moments. I wonder why I struggle to make decisions and feel as if I know myself. I’ve realized now that the only way to hear what your heart, the space around you, and the universe are trying to tell you, is to be quiet and seek silence.
I think that your draft paints a very vivid picture of what you want the audience to truly take out of your TIB. The description that you used really shows the passion you have towards what you believe. I agree, we should all take time out of our days to truly appreciate each simple moment and the silent that comes with it.