Frequencies

Frequencies

the language beneath words

where silence begins to sing

I am learning

that everything speaks

long before it explains itself.

Before the sentence,

there is a hum.

Before the choice,

a leaning.

Before the wound,

a signal asking to be met.

Not all truths arrive as thoughts.

Some arrive as pressure in the chest,

as warmth behind the eyes,

as a quiet yes

that doesn’t need permission.

We call it mood,

intuition,

energy—

but really,

it is the body remembering

how to listen.

Grief has a low frequency.

It moves slow,

heavy as dusk,

asking for stillness.

Joy is lighter—

not louder,

just less afraid to rise.

Fear jitters,

skips,

loses rhythm

when it forgets it is held.

And love—

love doesn’t shout.

It stabilizes.

It brings the room into tune

without demanding attention.

I am not broken when I feel out of sync.

I am adjusting.

Retuning.

Learning which voices

are mine to amplify

and which were only static

from surviving too long in noise.

Healing, I’ve learned,

is not becoming higher.

It is becoming clearer.

It is letting my own frequency

find its place in the chord—

not above,

not below,

but true.

And when I finally rest there,

even silence

begins to sing.

— Flower InBloom

Author’s Note

Frequencies was written from the understanding that not all knowing arrives as thought. Some truths are felt first—through the body, through rhythm, through silence. This piece explores the subtle signals beneath language: the hum of intuition, the way steadiness communicates without force, and how clarity often emerges not by adding more, but by listening more closely. It is an invitation to notice what remains when the noise softens—and to trust the quiet intelligence already present.