AN ODE TO SLOWNESS AND SILENCE

In this post I want to talk about the importance of SILENCE — of going slowly, of leaving space, of being able to sit with emptiness, with nothingness. That pause between taking one step and not yet knowing what the next will bring. Between one heartbeat and the next. Between an inhale and an exhale. That silence which allows us to hear the notes of a song — without silence there would be no rhythm, no time. Silence is part of the rhythm of life… and we forget about it.

Being able to sit in silence is one of the greatest gifts I have learned in this life. To let my inner world tune into silence — as if turning the dial of a radio to the channel called "nothing." And to simply be there… listening… being… feeling… savouring the silence and the fragrance of the calm it offers when everything grows still.

It is difficult, of course, when our mind won't stop, when the heart is beating fast, when the breath is unsettled, or when we are surrounded by noise. It is in silence that we can truly listen — to what is outside, and to what is within.

We live in societies of constant stimulation — screens, colours, signs, everything has a sound. Music and noise, without pause. And please don't misunderstand me — I love music deeply. But I also love silence, and what it stirs in me.

Just as each musical note carries a different vibration — measurable, felt differently in the body — silence has the quality of generating almost zero vibration. And in that near-stillness, it is as though the particles of our body also begin to slow, like a guitar string left untouched, gradually growing still, releasing its vibration as sound until it finally comes to rest in quiet.

And yet, silence is experienced by many people as deeply unsettling — because it connects us with emptiness, with uncertainty, with not knowing. And we have been so mistakenly conditioned to believe we must always know everything that it frightens us profoundly to let ourselves fall into nothingness. Even more so to understand that we might actually enjoy it — that there is enormous richness in the simple act of just being, with nothing to do, nothing to choose, nothing to decide, nothing to think, nothing to say. Just being… in the emptiness… in the silence… simply being.

I understand how difficult this can be, because I have lived it too — and still do. When my internal alarm system is switched "ON," my control mechanisms activated, my anxiety rising, my mind racing at a hundred miles an hour — in those moments, the very idea of stopping, of silence, of emptiness, feels almost absurd. Are you serious?

If I am honest, in those most extreme moments, sometimes all I can do is connect with my body — feel the tension, move and stretch widely to release it. And if I can, like the guitar string, let it go through my voice as well.

Once the peak of tension passes, I can breathe again. I let everything gradually settle, and little by little I find my way back to something closer to that emptiness and silence I am speaking of.

It has been through experiences at meditation retreats, and through a somewhat more consistent practice at certain points in my life, that I have been able to discover that these other states are truly possible — states of stillness, calm, peace, of simply being — where everything is all right if you let it be. And remarkably, in that place, an inner contentment arises. Without any apparent reason, a genuine sense of wellbeing appears — one that does not depend on anything external, but feels more like the joy and gratitude of simply being alive, felt from the inside. Once you know what that feels like, it may be hard to find your way back there — but at least you know where you are trying to go.

I am not trying to convince anyone to meditate. But I do want to share my own experience, in case it inspires something — and perhaps invite us all to give a little more interest and importance to this ingredient that seems so absent from our lives: going slowly, stillness, silence, and the willingness to sit with emptiness.

In Gestalt Therapy, we even speak of this emptiness as a "fertile void" — that zero point from which all possibilities can emerge. Leaving the field fallow long enough so that we can plant again. Turning the computer off and resetting it for a few seconds — or a few months, depending on the case — so that it can function properly once more.

And yet, being able to rest in "not knowing" is one of the hardest things for our minds to sustain — especially the part responsible for our survival, which constantly needs information to assess its chances of success or failure. So when we don't tell the mind what we are going to do, what is going to happen, when we do nothing — at first, this part of the system panics. But gradually, with practice, it learns to settle. And through experience, it begins to realise that by not doing, by not knowing, things can still go well — often even better than when we try to control them and make them happen the way we want. That we can release control of a situation without the world ending. In fact, quite the opposite — by letting things be as they are, perhaps not always as we would wish, but as they are, it becomes possible to find peace in that too.

Like everything, with practice we may learn to do things more slowly and with more tenderness — paying closer attention, because that is the gift of being alive: being able to notice that we are. Not letting life pass us by while we are already thinking about the next thing, without having even savoured this one.

Let us learn to listen and to look at others more, and more deeply. To notice the details. To feel greater compassion. Compassion requires a calm, open, and relaxed heart — and our heart cannot be that when we are rushing from one place to the next, or anxiously preoccupied with what comes next.

So I invite you to be more present in your bodies, in the moment, rather than living inside your minds. I invite you to try doing whatever you are doing just a little more slowly — with more awareness and enjoyment. I invite you to listen to the people around you without offering opinions, without interrupting. I invite you to actually look at the places you walk or drive through. I invite you to cook with calm, to pause and breathe after each sentence. I invite you to walk slowly sometimes, as well as fast.

Above all, I invite you to give yourself one moment each day to connect with silence… and perhaps there, you may find that life becomes richer when you slow down.