Notes on Silence
There are many dimensions of silence - physical, mental, social, and eternal. Some have been forced upon me, others sought in refuge or in hopelessness. In examining the topic, I can’t force morality upon it, only observe what has been done with the vastness of absence, and in doing so, honor the sanctity of our complete presence.
I was 14 when I first tried to remove myself from this planet, very timidly, and in secret. A boy who did not know Love told me if I was serious I should use a gun - God’s first miracle that I was too afraid. So continued my muted martyrdom amidst torturous bullying, lies, and despair. After several failed attempts, I almost succeeded at 17 - scared me straight into believing I could think myself happy for nearly 2 decades. I mishappily partied through my teens, twenties, thirties… none the wiser (especially ME) to that trauma time-bomb waiting for just the right man to sweep me into a perfectly dystopian marriage that I’d never leave. Insults? I’ve heard worse. Threats? Asking for it. Financial abuse? Familiar. Lies and manipulation? Never suspected. I was ALL IN, stakes ever-rising. Because gravity need not apply, I thought I was happy. Well enough. Risen from baseline?
Saving my teenage life didn’t feel like such a miracle when that house of cards came crashing down around my ankles with divorce and the dismantling of everything I knew and loved during quarantine 2020. There I was in the middle of my life crisis (amidst the WORLD pandemic) clinging to scraps of everything that made me sick to begin with. Forced to let go, I was given a glimpse of utter sobriety. No where to go, no where to hide from a stark honest look at myself. I thought I’d never face the world again.
I wish I could say God rushed in to reward my submission with an immediate transformation of mind, body, and bank account, but as a wonderful man told me, it took a long time to dig that fucking (my word) hole. Many years of bad decisions, poorly chosen company, and dysfunctional behaviors does not evaporate with one brilliant epiphany. When I was hopeless and could barely get myself out of bed, a very special woman told me “just do the next right thing.” Two pieces of wisdom that began to change my heart and life forever. I didn’t stop wanting to kill myself, but I stopped trying. I started talking to God, and found Hope. When released from quarantine, I found community with safe people who taught me what real Love looks and feels like. I sat in daily meditation and noticed while in external silence, endless chatter littered my mind. I kept sitting and noticed as my inner world softened, so did my outside circumstances. There I discovered my voice - strong, resilient, worthy.
When freely chosen, silence is serene, a practice of commune with the divine within and beyond ourselves. When stolen, an act of violence in opposition to our First Amendment rights. Over time, ideas, people, and culture may be silenced - the ultimate form of oppression. Speaking from personal experience, it’s painful, dirty work scrubbing the lens of the mind - remaining present to what lies within myself in ongoing exchange with my environment, however; this work must be rigorously pursued if freedom is to be maintained.
"It's rather like your voice. You put up with your voice and speak with it because you haven't any choice. But it's what you say that counts. It's what distinguishes all great art from the other kind. The technically accomplished buggers are two a penny in any period."
-John Fowles
Editorials are attributed exclusively to Hype Girl Media and may not be reproduced without prior authorization nor associated with unnamed individuals or entities.