On Finding Silence (And Even Embracing It)
For celebrating the new year, my companion and I took a day trip to Saint Augustine. It was nice to have some peace and quiet with him; for each of us to fill our quiet time with each other, to soak each other in.
It wasn’t until I had woken up though, next to my companion, when his sleeping body, his silence, filled in my own inner chaos. His little twitches, his small noises, suddenly felt so magnificently beautiful. In that dim hotel room, I found a deeply meditative beauty.
Throughout the week, I listened to many ambient songs & audiobooks on self-care and self-healing. Along with this audio, as well as reading many books about taking responsibility for your story, I started to meditate. Listening to the needs of my own body. Once upon a time, I would have thought that this act of contemplation a luxury. Now, I see that being in the present--with my body, with these sounds and feelings--should be taught everywhere. Because to hear yourself is to know yourself.
As a result of this, I started to journal and write within these spaces. Meditating on what the past means to me... how I truly define freedom. And I discovered, through writing an essay on "free-diving" into the emotions of my past, that freedom means reframing your personal history and gathering a deep sense of appreciation from it instead of fear. To unanchor myself from these shadows and make them more beautiful is freedom.
To be content in this body, with my heart, is freedom.
Free-diving into emotion isn't easy; I had spent about five years taking responsibility, editing, and trying to get the story of my past right within my graduate program. I had teased out the story through poems and artwork and songs. But it wasn't until I submitted my final thesis, after a trip to Italy, that I felt I had finally closed that sad chapter.
As a result, I have found myself in loose sounds. These contemplative songs of nothing but an acoustic guitar, soft synths, barely audible voices talking in the background. These audiobooks and physical books where I would journal about a craft or message and find that there is nothing to fear about rooting yourself into the reality of now.
Even if my companion and I are too scared to label how we occupy space in each other's lives--even if our futures don't align--I am grateful for him because he has taught me how presence is all about staying in the moment. About also honoring who you've been before each other without judgment. I adore my companion for this. He has been the one to teach me that free-diving isn't at all scary. That it's only fearful when you don't have the right tools or education to do it.