See Nothing, Feel The Presence

So I sat at the table, feeling the intense pressure of the silence that hung in the room with what felt like a genuine ‘presence’. The impression imposed by that silence was similar to the feeling for example, when, an annoying person, who, in wanting your attention, hovers in the corner of your vision, whilst you are intensely engaged in something else. You know they are there, you even acknowledge that you are aware of them, and that you are busy. But they don’t simply signal they will go away and come back when you are free. They stay and move around the very edges. Never just, quietly stepping into the front view and, simply sitting down. To sit unobtrusively and patiently, awaiting your attention. They hang there, in the corner of your vision and your attention. You have to keep looking up and reassuring them you are not free just then, but you know they are waiting. It was that sort of feeling initially.

Then, on top of that, there was knowledge of the reason for the silence. That certainly added weight to the situation. So now it was like a large, heavy, annoying person, hovering in the edge of your vision. Actually this one was breathing (or rasping) down your neck. The dinner plate was put before me, the family of brothers and sisters (sans one brother and no parents), gathered at the table. My youngest brother was still looking about the table at each of us (with his mouth and lips still clenched together), but a smile now, instead of a frown. Two of my sisters couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, which only encouraged him even more. I should have felt a bit like the condemned man, given that just a few minutes earlier (and for the last few hours) I had been. And in reality I still was. Just facing a minor (and much appreciated) ‘stay of execution’. But there was a certain irrepressible spirit in seeing my younger brother desperately wanting to cross the boundary he had been given by the ‘caretaker’ mother in the form of my older sister.

Everyone was straining not to speak to me. But in our house, silence at the dinner table had very seldom happened. It was perfectly natural. Eight children and parents could, even when whispering to each other, raise a fair volume of ‘ambient’ sound. Though this was not always appreciated, it could not be helped. I have previously mentioned my mother’s ability to monitor several conversations at the table at once (see blog Friday April 20^th 2012). The skill required for this was even more obvious, when the normal dinner noise was absent. Such skill as my mother possessed in those situations, can only have come about through intense practice. Right then, it was the opposite. Every little noise was amplified, due to the lack of actual conversation, and added to, by the domination of the feeling of the ‘presence’.

(continued tomorrow)