Art of silence 

​Summer has taught me to love. It has taught me that the only way to preserve the beauty in life is by experiencing it. By standing in the midst of that moment, emptying my mental chatter and rumblings of an imaginary future, and let the air permeated with the smell of newly cut grass find its way to my lungs so that they, too, can experience this year’s June. 
It gave me a glimpse into parenthood; the blooming of the earth, the flying of insects and birds playing with the greenery, curious. The long hours that can be too long on days when you’re so exhausted but the sunlight won’t let you sleep until it does. Short nights that are over before they began. Sweltering heat and insects bites. But isn’t that life – joy always has baggage. 

This summer has been one of silent reflections. I’ve tried to relax and be open to receive divine guidance, to decipher what it is my heart is telling me. The forest has been a central point. 

It reflected back everything in my subconscious, and it was there that I repeatedly went to give away all that I had let go of, all my detachments and worn-out memories that I had wrung out every single lesson from. 
The forest was a place I could go and I’d be received – all of me. Usually I have to cut myself down, tone myself down to walk amongst mortals. But in the forest, no. 

Through the breezes and swaying of trees I could hear my intuition so clearly. It was as if the rocks and slugs and leaves were seducing my intuition to come out.

 
Summer has taught me how to let go. I could see how it was gradually leaving, and I felt a pang of grief. I didn’t want this blissful time to end, I wanted to recreate these memories over all days and nights. 
But then I realized that summer hadn’t created those memories, it was merely a prop for me to put my wobbly emotions on. And if I could let go of the notion that the world on the outside creates my inner world, I’d be able to recreate July afternoons on dark December morns. 
Summer has taught me to see the beauty in all things by realizing that all things are beautiful. I just got to learn to listen and understand. I have to set what I think I know and what my ego demands, aside. I have to be a vessel in order to get it.
Summer has taught me to be grounded during transitions. It’ll soon pass. 
Summer has taught me to accept and adapt to all of life; not only the good stuff. 
Summer has taught me how to love people even when I can’t see their blossoms and can’t feel their warmth. It has taught me to stay, to wait, for the ice to melt.
Summer has taught me that in order to evolve, I need to leave certain people and places behind. I need to shed everything that is burdening me and serves me no purpose. 
Summer has taught me to trust that in the silence, the stillness, the bareness, Allaah is creating.
Summer has taught me that even if I break down and get confused, I can never get lost any more than birds migrating back from Africa could get lost, or leaves shed in autumn could get lost growing back in spring.
Summer has taught me that I *am* my journey.
Summer has taught me the cyclical rhythm that is natural to life. 
Summer has taught me all of this in order for me to forget who I’m *not*.
 And I, too, shall enter my own hibernation. The sun in me never sets. I’ll wait for my inner glaciers to melt away, and from the water formed by the melted ice will grow and ferment a magical Spring.

2 responses to Art of silence 

    • Blues Fairy – Author

      Heya Myles! I’m really glad you got that vibe because I tried to recreate it through words. Transitions are taxing. Staying grounded and breathing deeply helps me tremendously. Hope you’re fairing well

      Like

Fire away!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s