A letter to Peace and Silence. [w/ Audio]

LIKE AND FOLLOW THIS BLOG

My dear friend, Silence,

I find myself quite embarrassed at the moment. I’ve taken to calling you “Silence” for so long, I’ve forgotten exactly what your name is. I know it’s something like Peace, but not as the external state of being tranquil or quiet, but as in the internal clarity and stillness found in the middle of external chaos. I suppose equanimity, wisdom, and compassion all apply, but I’ve found myself more and more just calling you, Silence. I hope that’s okay.

I write to you because it seems like years since I’ve last heard from you. We used to see each other so often; I truly looked forward to our little meetings. Whether I was writing, reading, listening to music, or even just enjoying a cold evening, your presence was so moving for me. For a man of little words, you always gave me so much to think about and so much to appreciate.

I’ve attempted calling and looking you up on Facebook a lot, but you must have gone social media free. I’ve never had the courage to do that, but it inspires me that you have done such a steadfast job at remaining to yourself. I often go overboard trying to reach out to others to get my inspiration from those fleeting moments of shallow talk. I miss the way we could just sit without speaking and still feel close to each other.

Since you’ve been gone, I’ve fallen into spouts of irrational anxiety and depression that become very intense. Occasionally they get so bad, I have to go get professional help for it. You used to help guide me with those moments when I lost control of my emotions. It’s hard not to be a little resentful of your absence, but no, you’re the best friend I’ve ever known in this lifetime.

I could have sworn I saw you out the other night, quietly journeying the evening streets, as you do. I went to call out to you but as soon as I opened my mouth to shout, you had turned the corner to another street. It’s like the more I actively try to find you, the harder it is for us to connect. It used to be so easy. I would just be minding myself, as mindfully as I could muster, and you’d pay me a visit with a warm embrace and a smile in those knowing eyes.

I tried sitting in stillness the other day, the way you taught me. All I could hear were the thoughts and worries playing over and over in my head, like a broken record. I waited maybe ten minutes for you, but eventually closed my eyes to go to sleep. That’s okay too. I suppose I’ll just have to sit more often and breathe gently, waiting to hear from you. You’ve never once responded to an invite, but when you found the moment was right, you always stopped by. I never got to thank you for that and to let you know how appreciative I am of our relationship. My eyes were never more opened than the times I spent with you.

I’m attempting to reread an old book of yours, a mindfulness book on “How to See Yourself as you Really Are.” It’s a little wordy, but when the benefit is that life changing, I can understand the need for so much explanation. I hope I can practice the readings and clear space for you in my life and mind again, because I worry I’ve gone and filled up all your space with ultimately trivial things like shame, avoidance, and self-doubt again.

If I don’t hear back from you right away, I’ll understand. It’s been a long time since I’ve made an effort to include you in my life. Let’s change that together. I hope things are well for you, and that you’re right where I left you: with the flowers and the butterflies.

I hope to hear from you soon,

Your friend, Drew.