I sat mostly in silence for two days, as I felt the heavy toll of what seems like could have been a war. I’ll never know for certain, because there is so much I don’t know. I may always be in some kind of silence, yet I can’t allow other voices to speak all the time. It always, especially now, feels as if I’m being erased. I know the hollowness of this feeling. Denied your identity, and in your vow of silence, other voices crowd within. But I’ll always know and remember the last two days. So many messages sent, so many I had to turn away from. I would have crushed in the weight of all these words, which have moved from a slow, manageble trickle, into a torrent of rain. The rain is good, it’s cleansing, but finally moving inside, the rain disappeared, But what happened in those moments? I talked to myself, in my mind, in a question and answer session. I asked myself the most pressing questions, and in the silence, the answers came quickly. It’s something I may always do.
So what did I realize? I’ll never be alone. Not even within my darkest moments. Because there’s always a voice with me in these moments, so much dearer to me now, powerful, and mysterious. I’ll never understand it. I don’t need to. It may be my consciousness, it may be something else, it doesn’t matter. Because all things, in a way, are both many and one. The silence was beautiful. I desire it as much as friendship, because I know that even when no one is on your side, you always have something mysterious, something beyond, that speaks in these silences, in both true silence, and engagements with the mind.
I hope to write more soon, as this is something I’m just discovering, but that’s enough for now. There is so much to do. I need to pack, and step away from the internet for awhile. Things change, and no greater change happened for me than feeling the hollow of the silent morning, all throughout the day. but there is nothing truly absent, nothing is truly gone, and when the voices come again, for now, I return to music, where I have built a reference point, for where I’ll always need to go.