The Sound of Silence


Silence is the language God speaks, and everything else is a bad translation.” – Father Thomas Keating

As I write this I sit on my sofa listening to the birds chirping outside. The silence of my house echoes through and through me. The gift of time for myself. Spring and summer are hectic times here. Family and friends gather, and guests are everywhere. I love this time. But, I also love solitude and quietness. Our Great Dane is on his bed near me, every so often picking up his head and letting me know that at some point we must venture outside. His deep sighs remind me to take my own deep breaths. It rained last night and the smell of the earth’s nectar has been intoxicated. There is life pumping outside and inside of me. I can hear the sound of life everywhere.

I spent a large portion of my life being awaken each morning to chaos. If it wasn’t the yelling of fear in my own head then it was the external noises of someone who had no peace and had to wake the house up whenever he was up. It was a time of complete mayhem with kids running around and schedules that needed to be met. Time didn’t seem to be relevant to anyone. I have spent the last few years of my life waking up to peace in these mountains. I open my eyes, say my prayers, light candles and sit in silence for a little bit. I go with the rhythm of the morning. I need this space, solitude, and grounding. I need to hear God in those initial moments of returning to this world from the dream state. Anything else, just like the above quote, is a horrible translation for me. And, I know this is ironic: I am a chatterbox during the day. I will make conversation with anyone or anything. I have been known to talk to the trees, the fish, and the rocks. But, my mornings are sacred. I need to go to the windows and look outside and see how the day will receive me. I need to breathe in the entrance of daylight. I require serenity in those first moments of entering a new day with gratitude for still being able to walk the journey. I need to breathe in deeply and let my spirit know that I am grateful for everything.

As I continue to write this I can hear the rattling of leaves with the wind. The frogs are active around the pond, the fist are circling waiting to be fed, and the sun is ready to burst light in this entire valley.  It is a beautiful mountain morning. I am blessed for so many things, but especially the silence of my spirit as I hear God loud and clear. I can’t understand how so many folks avoid this with music and television and the constant distraction of chit-chat inside of their heads. I cannot comprehend how anyone moves into a new day without listening to the voice of quietude before the rest of the loved ones wake. How can you recharge? How can you allow for the Divine to speak? I can’t imagine day in and day out avoiding this peace for the mind, body and spirit. Once you’ve tasted peace it is very difficult to avoid it.

May you allow inner guidance to bring you to a place of silence each day so you can touch the Divine. May you take notice that you are here on borrowed time and make that time count. Open your heart and let love guide you through this spiritual journey into the unknown. It is there that you will find truth, grace and faith. Make it a practice to allow your soul and physical body some sacred moments of peace. You will marvel at the changes in your life. Have a great one!

6 thoughts on “The Sound of Silence

  1. Your words described your morning so peaceful. I love those quiet mornings when the house is still sleeping. Only I live in the city and there is always the hum of traffic and people walking by. Though the birds live close and sing loud.

  2. You have the perfect place there for enjoying the peace of a mountain morning, before everyone else wakes up!

    I’m usually awake before Sam, so I lay in bed for a while, listening to the dogs’ breathing. There’s something calming about having sleeping dogs nearby — especially when cars are racing past the house in both directions; and a train is rumbling through the crossing just up the road, blowing its whistle — they keep me grounded. I can’t hear the birds and squirrels yet. Maybe they’re still asleep too.

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