Wolves have what it takes to live in peace. They communicate lavishly. By gestures -- the smile, for instance -- and by sounds, from the big social howls to the conversational whimpers. They even seek to control by sound first, not biting. A full-grown wolf will plead with you not to take its possessions. And you in turn can plead with a wolf. It glances at your eyes, desists from what has displeased you and walks off as if indifferent.
True experience always comes about in withdrawal "from the crowd." The original, true and proper attitude of the mind is, as Heraclites says, that of "listening to the truth of things..." Our journey into the territory of being should be made in silence, with wondering, wide-open eyes. The fullness of truth and reality is revealed only to those who attain to a silence which covers every aspect of their beings, or who, in other words make their basic attitude toward the whole of being one of delicate and reserved courtesy... For anyone who wishes to hear what is true and real, every voice must for once be still. Silence, however, is not merely the absence of speech. It is not something negative; it is "something" in itself. It is a depth, a fullness, a peaceful flow of hidden life. Everything true and great grows in silence. Without silence we fall short of reality and cannot plumb the depths of being. Kierkegaard, who was acutely aware of this, once made the profoundly true statement: "Silences are the only scrap of Christianity we still have left."