My envelopment in silence progresses daily. The simple inability for me to communicate audibly immerses me in a pit of obscurity. Speaking is a two-way street at minimum, even talking to oneself involves an utterer and the listener, even I they do occupy the same body.
The suppression of sound is eerily familiar to me, having suffered and adapted to isolation as a child, an enforced medical quarantine numerous weeks long whilst my mystery condition was diagnosed. I called that experience ‘The White Room’, a recollection that has never faded from memory or eased on in effect my psyche.
Several observers have seen my acceptance of this latest plight bemusing, concerning, but I am uninclined to excuse my position or fully explain. Having been obliged to appreciate silence as golden, the reoccurrence of the scenario is almost anticipated, welcome, as familiar as well-worn clothes, an old comfortable tweed jacket and trousers. As an aside I might mention that my favorite album ever is ‘The White Room’ by KLF, 1991.