The curious sounds of silence

The other night the electricity failed and I went out onto the veranda and looked about me.

It was very quiet. The small garden seemed to be fast asleep. The trees that surround this place seemed very tall and still and silent in the half-light filtering from the hidden moon.

Somewhere an insect was making a soft whirring sound. Yet I was aware only of an absolute, perfect silence.

And I thought how curious it was that silence should not be just the absence of sound. On this beautiful night it had an aura, a hypnotic quality that was strangely calming.

But there are silences and silences. And some silences are more terrible than the most terrible noise.

Think of the silence of animosity, as between a warring couple who declare an uneasy truce. Or the pregnant silence, a silence so uncomfortable that even the inane chatter that might follow it is welcomed with relief. Think of the solitary silence of despair, which is no silence at all but pure war, a cacophony of words and pain ricocheting in one's brain.

The best silences are those in which there is harmony. But this must be a very rare and delicate harmony, one that is not so easily achieved. Does it happen because of the absence of noises in one's own head? Is it a balance between the inner self and the outer world?

How does one experiences this perfect silence other than by chance, on a rare and magical night?