Close your eyes to and settle back.
This is a place the world forgets,
The secret corner of the earth,
Where time slows and breath deepens.
And you can arrive at the edge of it quietly.
You are invited there,
Not by words,
But by something older,
Something that speaks not in language,
But in senses.
Let the loud noise of the world fall away,
Like leaves drifting off from high branches.
Then find yourself standing at the edge of the place most forgotten,
A quiet forest.
The air is cool,
Not cold,
But embraced with that kind of freshness that wakes you gently.
There is no harshness here,
Only calm,
Only softness.
Beneath your feet,
A thick carpet of moss sprawls in every direction,
Not the thin kind you see in passing,
But deep,
Billowing moss,
Lush and alive.
The colour of emerald and pine and forest dreams.
It softens your step until you are no longer walking,
But floating.
It cushions each step like a whispered promise.
You are held here.
You are safe.
The ground laced in layers of the deepest green,
Glowing underneath the morning dew,
Is blanketing the forest floor with its soft,
Gentle touch.
It stretches far and wide in every direction,
Curved over roots,
Curled around stones,
Encascading gently over the edges of low boulders,
As if tucking them in.
Nature here does not resist.
It embraces.
Small,
Delicate pink flowers bloom in quiet constellations.
Peeking out from clover patches that stretch towards the light in soft,
Hearted surrender.
The clover,
Too,
Is thick and kind,
Its leaves brushed with the morning dew.
Tiny droplets catch the light like stars caught in the palm of the earth.
The earth here asks for nothing.
It offers its beauty freely.
Not to be seen,
But simply because it is.
There is no fear in its quiet presence,
Only the deep knowing of its worth.
It does not question its arrival,
Nor does it question yours.
It knows that you,
Too,
Belong here.
And all around you,
A forest breathes.
The trees stand tall,
But not imposing.
They are companions,
Not watchers.
Rooted in their own stillness,
Generous with their shade,
Streams of golden light slip between their leaves,
Falling like quiet blessings upon you and upon the earth.
It warms without scorching,
Soothes without demanding.
Nothing rushes,
Nothing competes.
You are not a visitor here.
You are part of this.
The sanctuary knows you,
Not the name others use for you,
But the one your bones remember.
The name whispered to the stars before you were born.
The name only the moss and flowers and quiet air know how to say.
The forest itself has shaped this place for you and for your rest.
Above,
A gentle breeze stirs the leaves.
They whisper to one another,
Not in words,
But in the kind of language your soul remembers.
Soft and ancient,
Carried on the wind upon wonders,
It doesn't speak to your mind,
But to something deeper,
Quieter.
A knowing beneath thought,
A truth that doesn't need explaining or talking through.
Because silence does not seek approval,
It does not adorn itself to be worthy.
It does not strive to impress or convince,
It simply is unapologetic.
Whole and untouched by the need to be understood.
In its presence,
All masks fall away.
And only what is real remains.
The silence strips us bare.
It asks us to meet ourselves as we are.
Without titles,
Without roles,
Without masks.
And that is terrifying to a world built on noise.
The world which hums with distraction,
It thrums with endless doing,
Relentless reaching.
We are taught to run from the quiet,
To fill it,
To find our passion,
Fulfill our promises to others,
To search and search for our purpose here on earth.
Yet we are not always happy with that,
With that constant noise.
But what if the silence isn't something you fear?
What if the silence is sacred?
What if it's not empty but full?
What if it holds the very medicine we need?
What if there,
We find who we are?
Now take some lovely comfortable breaths.
And let all the noise just fade away.
And touch the silence.
There's no need to push the silence away.
Just look at it.
Feel it.
Let it pass like wind through tall grass.
Let the silence roll through you.
And underneath it,
Find the stillness waiting.
That quiet hum beneath the chaos.
That silence between the thoughts.
That breath you almost forgot to notice.
This is where truth lies.
This is where the soul speaks,
Not loudly,
But in soft,
Unhurried whispers.
You are not lost.
You are simply distant from the silence that remembers who you are.
So much of the world's noise is a performance of forgetting.
A pretending that we are not aching,
Not weary,
Not searching for something more than this frantic pace can offer.
Silence never forgets.
Silence remembers the child you once were.
The one who stared at the sky for hours.
Who felt the pulse of the earth through bare feet.
Who believed that maybe trees could talk,
If you listened for long enough.
Silence remembers your softness,
Your longing,
Your sacred slowness.
It remembers your grief,
All the places you tucked it away.
So you could keep moving,
Keep smiling,
Keep surviving.
But you don't have to keep outrunning it.
Not here.
Let this be a soft place to land.
A place where you do not have to be anything but honest to yourself.
The truth to you.
What are you holding that's too heavy to speak?
What is rising in you when the world grows quiet?
Notice that right now,
Your breath doesn't demand attention.
Yet it has not abandoned you.
It is faithful.
It is patient.
It waits for you to notice.
Just like silence,
Just like your own soul.
There is a deep presence that lives within the quiet.
It invites you to remember that you are not behind.
Perhaps your silence is not emptiness,
But transformation.
A becoming of who you really are.
So let the world be loud.
Let it dance and shout and spin itself in circles.
And know that you are not here to match its volume.
You are here to remember the beauty of the quietness.
The quietness that only your silence can reach.
Notice the silence of the world.
The silence in every morning light.
The way you never hear the sun set or the moon rise at night.
How we can't hear the stars talking.
Or the wind unless it touches something in its passing.
Without silence,
How can you reach your inner truth?
How do you pause for those moments of thought?
You are here to return to the rhythm beneath the noise.
The rhythm that was always yours.
You don't need to fear the silence.
The silence holds your name in it.
It has not forgotten you.
It never could.
You can let the silence speak.
Let it cradle the pieces of you that grew tired of shouting.
Let it gather all the versions of you that had to be strong.
Had to be loud and seen.
And offer those parts rest.
Offer them truth.
Offer them peace.
Because maybe the world is loud.
Because it is afraid of the silence.
But you,
You were born from it.
And in the silence,
You will hear again.
The sound of your own becoming.
