Impossibly Finding Silence

For as far back as I can remember, in the earliest days of my childhood, I have always been a quiet soul. I have never wanted to be one to cause problems, rock the boat, start drama, or have confrontations of any kind. My goal was to lie below the radar and try to just be liked by everyone, which meant being quiet and sometimes being walked on.

What I didn’t realize as a child and only now as an adult is that I’m starting to learn the true depths of the noise that was inside my head and how much that noise had a voice, and that voice was telling me how completely worthless I was; no affirmations would ever be given to me.

That voice was a bully. A mean-spirited version of myself that only wanted to see me fail. I hate that voice and the noise its words generate as it tries to try and crush my self-worth.Ia

A few weeks ago, a dear friend of mine passed away. She was like a big sister; she also was a gentle spiritual advisor who offered me guidance in a sense. She wanted to guide me away from the noise to remind me that my gentle spirit was worth fighting for. Before she passed away, she reminded me how much I am loved and also gifted me a trip/retreat to one of her favorite places on this earth, a place where she found peace, solitude, comfort, and silence.

This place is a quiet farm deep off the back roads of the normal craziness of everyday life. Far away from the hustle and bustle of the world. A place where I could let my mind settle and my heart be still and just listen and learn to find silence.

The weekend I went was the weekend she was supposed to go, but now it was my honor to go in her stead, to experience something that she experienced many times in her life, and it was my time to honor and remember her. It was also to focus on me, to focus on listening. Would I hear God here? Would I feel closer to the universe that He has created around me? That was unclear, but I was open to all of it.

The first evening I was there. It was hard to try and figure out how to settle into silence. The winter nights are getting longer, so the sun has long set early into the evening horizon. As I stepped outside after eating my dinner (in silence, I should add), I was greeted by the most wonderful supermoon. It rose beyond the fields far in the distance like a bright sleeping giant coming to life with a dirty orange glow. Slowly that orange glow turned into a bright white glow—a supermoon; in fact, it is the month of the Beaver Moon I realized.

The moon does not make any noise when it rises, but it makes its presence known by the bright light that shines from it, which is actually a reflection of light from our sun's light. The moon itself produces no light, yet it is bright and beautiful. I realized then that this weekend was possibly about me finding the light, but not necessarily the light that I could produce, but the light of others, and then letting their light shine off of me, and then maybe I could be a light for others to see who may be lost in their own darkness.

The next morning I got up early and looked out my window to see the sun coming up—a new day, a new light. I took a picture at that moment (see above) and decided I should go for a walk deep into the forest beyond the fields.

On my wall, I started noticing how the spiderwebs were catching all of the overnight dew with drips of water trapped weighing on them.

Outlining the shapes of their creations from overnight. What dedication do the spiders have to create art each evening and meticulously design a structure of beauty and wonder in an effort to catch something for them to eat.

I am glad that I am not a fly. I would not stand a chance against being drawn to the beauty of their web; the artist in me respects the creation, the symmetry, and the beauty of the spiderweb. I would be trapped instantly, a victim to their artistry.

As I wandered on, I noticed the long grass in the sunlight and the beauty of its color reflecting the drops on the seeds of wheat as it flowed across the landscape.

Much of the property had been destroyed with lots of trees down from Hurricane Helena that had ravaged the district weeks before.

I couldn’t help but notice the parallels between a place that was once so beautiful and precious and now scarred and hurt by a storm that had come in its strength and anger to wreck it all.

The parallel I’m alluding to is my life, which is in a state of recovery, where not too long ago, I wrecked and destroyed a life and lives around me that were beautiful and protected. I, however, was very broken—my heart, my mind—all of it was on a collision course, and I had no idea, or maybe I did, and I just ignored it. Either way, a storm blew in and my landscape changed forever.

Hindsight is 20/20—and now I see in the destruction the possibility of growth and healing and rebirth, and that beauty can and will come back in this peaceful place. Much like I know the beauty of my life will come back. It will be different, and it will have scars, and that’s okay. That is something I am willing to accept, and I know that I must accept.

The silence of my walk was welcome that morning; I could still hear the birds singing along with the squirrels and chipmunks all running around and wrestling beneath the leaves. This to me was an acceptable noise and a welcome noise, but also a beautiful silence in nature. It has its own sound.

Everyone now and again, my mind and my head would still be clamoring for the thoughts and the pain from that bullying voice of mine, and I am still trying to find peace even in the chaos of cloudy thoughts.

I sat for a while in a field alone to watch the sun come up over the horizon as the fog dissipated, and the air cleared as the steam rose up off the fields from the morning dew, evaporating into mist and disappearing for the day.

Again, I couldn’t help but reflect and see the parallels. I started to think about what I needed to do with the noise in my head. I need to let the light in. I need to let it dissipate the fogginess in my mind and help it clear the noise and fog out so I can see clearly.

I spent the rest of my day in prayer and deep thought of my friend, whom I miss dearly, but I’m also thankful for the gift she’s able to give from beyond her life on this earth. Even in her passing, she has left a profound effect on me, and her teachings will forever continue to evolve as I work to calm my soul and mind, to find peace in the chaos and the noise, even when it feels impossible because it is possible.