The quiet is nice. It stands out to me in the moment that I silence sound, shutting off Netflix or turning away from social media. It’s like turning those lights off turns on the Light. Every moment ripe with its own purpose, whatever I see it to be. The quiet allows me to hear, and to be with myself and my thoughts. I feel most creative the instant I silence sound and become conscious of the quiet. That moment bursts with light—stilled fireworks.
This time in my life is about the quiet, I can tell. It shows its face everywhere I look, and it reminds me of its presence. I’m aware of the quiet and its voice of silence. It doesn’t go missing or fall short on me. I see the gift that it is, so I turn to it for guidance and direction, and for the openings of creativity. We commune, the quiet and I. We spend time in each other’s presence, listening, engaging.
There is rich stillness in the quiet. It feels dense, weighing me with answers and awareness, the omens that I follow. I am awed by how heavy feels so light when rightly aligned, and I listen always for alignment, and for the way in which I am to follow the omens. I go always there, in the direction of life’s pointing, not my own.