The talking masks the racing thoughts in my mind, or so I think. I talk loud and fast when I am not at peace. For fear of the silence, I speak. To drown out the truth, I talk.
I want to teach and to learn, but then I remember: Silence teaches too.
I resist it. I resist bringing all my fears to that loving place within. I don’t trust it. What if it tells me something I do not want to hear? What if I am meant to leave? What if my dreams are not to come true? I resist it and hang onto what must surely be better. I hang onto the safety on the surface. I am not ready to go any deeper.
The silence teaches lessons for which I am so very unprepared. I am afraid of what Truth would ask of me. Feeling wholly unworthy I keep moving, not listening, not wanting to hear it. I create noise where quiet would whisper. I make plans where spirit would sing to me. I push it all away.
Until I cannot do that anymore. Until Truth lands on my doorstep like an uninvited guest demanding entrance into my safe and happy home.
“How dare you?!” I scream. But it silently waits….lovingly knows. All is well. All is well.
So I start talking, start reasoning, start making new plans, better plans. Truth sighs.
I cry, I grasp onto what I know, I plead for more time. Truth says: “There is no rush.”
And then finally I surrender. I let go and breathe. I sit in the fear and let it consume me for a moment, let it permeate every cell and possibility. I fall into its lap expecting the worst but then wake up safe and sound.
None of it was real.
The pain of it all lay in the anticipation. Avoiding the storm kept me from the calm. Silence taught me that. I resisted and darkness persisted until I let the light take over. I stopped talking, ceased to speak, let go of all that busied me, and in that moment I was cared for. I was saved again.
And through the lessons, the classes and the well-meaning noise I remembered: Silence teaches too. It waits patiently with love and unending compassion until you choose Truth again.