“The silence between notes is just as important as the notes themselves.” ~Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
When I was young, I thought knowledge was something you could capture – something you could write down, measure, prove. I believed that in order to understand something I had to explain it. And for a long time I tried it.
But then, through life, through music, through long conversations with people who can’t find wisdom in books, through life, through life, through life, I hit something else with me. The most powerful truths don’t always come in words. They exist in the space between them.
I learned this lesson in the mountains. There, the sky stretches wide, and silence is full of presence, not sky. I was there to travel there and document the group of elders who carried the history of their people with their voices, their stories, songs they sung to the younger generations.
One elder was particularly outstanding. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, others listened. Alongside his fellow elders, he recited in rhythmic, sung cadences, weaving the origins of the universe into the structure of their small mountain community. But it was his silence that struck me the most, not his voice.
He sat in silence as the camera rolled. The wind whispered the trees. The river muttered that eternal song. There was something deeper in that quietness than the speech, and something pulsating in meaning.
Later, when I played the footage for my colleague, they asked, “But what is he saying?”
I wanted to answer, everything.
Listen beyond words
If you’ve ever felt the world was too fast, just like people really talking to each other rather than listening, then you already know how unusual true listening is. We live in an age where everyone wants to hear, but few people know how to listen.
Listening – actual listening – isn’t just about listening to words. It’s about feeling a presence. It’s about realizing that it’s not being told. It is the weight behind someone’s silence, feeling the emotions of their breath before they speak.
I’ve always never knew how to listen like this. In my early days as a filmmaker, I focused on what I see: shots, framing, dialogue. But over time I realized that the most powerful moments were not always said out loud. It was a glance between two people who knew each other forever. It was the way someone’s hands tremble before they talked about difficult things. It was a pause between sentences.
This kind of listening – deep resting is a skill just like everyone else. And like any skill, it can be put into practice. It takes patience. It needs to be present. And it requires a willingness to quiet yourself and to let go of the need to respond, explain, or control the conversation.
Silence to speak
Nada Yoga, Sunge’s yoga has an old teaching, and silence is vibration, not absence. It is a resonance that allows meaning to be developed.
I felt this in the editing room, and realized that it was not the dialogue that moves people, but the space between them, the quiet moment before the revelation, before the truth. I felt it in the music when I allowed the musician to fade notes long enough to sink into the listener’s bones.
And I felt that in life, in a conversation where someone shares something very deeply personal, all you can do is sit in silence and sit with them.
That silence is not empty. It is full of respect, understanding and respect.
The power of existence
One of the biggest challenges I faced at work was convincing people that this kind of knowledge, the ability to sit with silence and to be present, is just as valuable as theory and analysis.
The academia, where I spent most of my life, is not always aware of more knowledge than written. A type of scholarship brought through film, through sound, and through experience. There, knowledge is measured in citations, publications and counting. But how do you count the pauses? How do you measure the effects of shared silence?
I have spent years trying to understand more broadly what it means to know something. Understanding its existence, the ability to be fully here, fully aware, is its own kind of intelligence.
And here’s what I want you to know: you don’t have to be a filmmaker or academic to develop this skill. You don’t have to travel to distant mountains or sit for long periods of meditation. You need to be careful.
How to listen in depth
If you want to learn to listen, try this to really listen – to:
1. Pause before responding.
The next time someone talks to you, don’t rush to fill in the space. Calm their words. Please note what else there is, their body language, their expressions, what they say.
2. Listen to your reply without planning.
Too many times, we were already thinking about what to say next, so we were only half of it. Instead, try to absorb what is being said. Make your responses natural.
3. Beware of silence.
In music, the rest is just as important as a note. In conversation, pause has meaning. Keep an eye on what happens in those spaces.
4. Be satisfied with what you don’t know.
Some of the deepest moments in life have no clear answers. Be open to sitting with uncertainty.
5. Practice with sound.
Listen to the world around you and really listen. Close your eyes. Note how many layers of sounds exist at once. wind. Ham in a distant car. Your own breathing rhythm.
The more you develop your listening skills, the more you understand not only about others, but also about yourself.
Another type of knowledge
I am writing this now not as a call to weapons, but as an invitation.
For artists, thinkers, those who feel deeply but don’t always have the words, know that there’s a place for you. The way you experience the world is valuable.
You don’t need to explain everything. You don’t have to put everything into words.
Sometimes the most powerful thing we know, what changes us, exists in the space between words.
And if you find yourself doubting whether or not there are ways of seeing, listening, and feeling in this world, remember this:
Some of the greatest wisdom has not been spoken.
Some of the most powerful messages have never been written.
And sometimes, the best way to understand is simply to exist.
About Tony Collins
Tony Collins, EDD, MFA is a documentary filmmaker, teacher, musician, writer and consultant with 40 years of experience. His work explores creative expression, academic rigor and non-fiction storytelling throughout the United States, Central America, Asia and the United Arab Emirates. In 2025, he reconsidered self-publishing creative scholarships: reviews in films and new media, and challenges traditional academic reviews in films and new media. Website: anthonycollinsfilm.com
