The Sacred Space of Silence
Silence. The word in itself can stir something in us. For many, it brings discomfort. We associate it with emptiness, awkwardness, or loneliness. In a world filled with constant movement and noise, silence can feel unnatural — even threatening.
But there’s something deeply honest about silence. When we strip away the background hum of daily life — the music, the conversations, the screens, the mental chatter — we’re left with what’s really there. And often, what we find is not immediately peaceful. We meet our fears, our unmet needs, our confusion, our grief. This is why we avoid it. Not because silence itself is harsh, but because it reveals what we’ve buried beneath the noise.
From doing to being
There’s a quiet kind of miracle that happens when we stop resisting silence. When we sit, breathe, and allow stillness to expand, something softens. Slowly, we begin to feel a different kind of presence — one that doesn’t come from thought or action, but from simply being. And that presence, that awareness behind the mind, is profoundly alive. It’s not separate from who we are. In fact, it may be our truest part.
In silence, there’s nowhere to hide
Many of us have been raised with the belief that our value lies in what we do. That the purpose of our life must be found in something external, something to chase or achieve. We are also taught — often unconsciously — that love is conditional, that success must be proven, that we need to become something to matter. This idea is rooted in generations of unmet needs for unconditional love. If we weren’t truly seen or held in our being, and don’t see ourselves now for who we are, we come to believe that doing is the only way to be worthy.
That belief becomes a drive, a search. We search for meaning in our work, in our relationships, in our identity. We structure our lives around goals, always just out of reach. We feel we need to go some-where. And we tend to forget the one thing that could actually bring peace: the permission to simply be, here and now.
Remembering what we are
In silence and stillness we remember. We remember that we are not “human doings,” but human beings. That we don’t have to strive for wholeness — cause we already are whole. Our sense of lack isn’t solved by acquiring more, but by realizing we were never lacking to begin with. The peace we seek isn’t hidden in the future — it’s quietly waiting in the present.
This is what silence can show us when we dare to be with it. It’s not an absence, but a presence. A space or field where we return to our natural state. One without pressure. One where nothing needs to be added, improved, or fixed.
Silence as a necessity in our retreats
That’s why silence plays such a central role in our retreats and plant medicine ceremonies. Not as an aesthetic choice, but as a necessity. In that sacred stillness, we step out of time and leave distractions behind. We step out of roles. We come home to the Self beneath all stories. And when we allow that homecoming, we begin to taste something that can’t be grasped by the mind — a field of Love; spacious, timeless and unconditional.
Of course, this isn’t easy. Stillness can bring up discomfort before it brings peace. That’s why safe containers matter. Why skilled guidance and compassionate presence can make the difference. Especially for those of us who didn’t grow up learning how to feel safe within. Silence can feel brutal if we’re left alone with unprocessed pain. But when held with care, it becomes one of the most powerful portals to healing we have.
It teaches us that nothing outside us needs to change for us to be okay. That everything we’ve been searching for — love, peace, meaning — is already inside. Not as a concept, but as a felt experience.
The path of silence isn’t about removing yourself from life. It’s about meeting life more fully — without the filters, without the noise, without the resistance. It’s about resting in what is.
So perhaps the next time silence finds you, you’ll pause before reaching for the next distraction. Perhaps you’ll place a hand on your chest, feel the breath move through you, and stay a little longer. Just to see what might unfold in that space.
Not because you have to accomplish anything.
But simply because you’re already enough.
