The quiet of the early morning is broken by a trilling sound. Is it a native bird or some kind of rooster? It begins to find its voice about 0530h. I’m usually awake before then.

I find calm in the darkness of the early morning hours.

I write. More now than for a while. I’m cliched in the way that my writing is affected by my emotional state.

For a while there I felt like I was writing about in circles; so engrossed was I in my own survival.

Silence is hope.

Silence is necessary.

Silence has its place.

Silence is healing.

To choose silence. To choose quietness.

This a new gift.

To choose joy when all else makes that feel like a struggle.

I think I once thought myself as incorrigible. As irrepressible.

But there is strength in choosing retreat, renewal, to seek new spaces for quietness.

To seek healing in silence.

Hope. Joy.

These are powerful words. These are weighty words.

The sun is beginning to shine brighter, the heat drawing joy, but also sapping some strength. A balance must be drawn, my fair skin protected from the warming but sometimes harsh rays and sometimes the usual protections are not enough.

Silence has been extraordinarily healing. Allowing space for the spirit to speak.

Do justly, walk humbly, love mercy.

This is what I stumble in the fog to find — to do — to be.

 “Except. What is normal at any given time? We change just as the seasons change, and each Spring brings new growth. So nothing is ever quite the same.” – Sherwood Smith – “Crown Dei”

To be normal is no goal to strive for. It is a mirage, and not even as picturesque.

But I admit I’ve spent a good couple of years now feeling my way back to something remembering normal, or if not normal — an even keel at least. Life has been, kindly, an adventure. But in the last 3 years it has felt more like a series of trials. It’s certainly been a real world kind of deal. I feel like I have a diploma from the school of hard knocks.

But instead of just coping, I’m starting to grapple with how to come out the other end with my head held high? And how to come out the other end with a new resolve and a sense of gaining maturity. How to move beyond survival mode and back to dreaming, thriving and relishing life? I’m still feeling my way in the fog for my answer.

But I am stepping out, able to observe silently, to be present. The silence, instead of mocking, questioning, wondering, lamenting, and terrifying, is full of hope, promise, peace, and patience.

This is Healing Silence.


Anna Blanch_Gill Gamble_blog

Listening. Observing. Participating. Writing. Photographing. Reflecting.

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Anna Blanch Rabe is an Australian-born writer and photographer.  She is proudly Team Rabe. Recently married, she and her husband love to cook together using fresh ingredients. More recipes can be found at Food: Nourish.  You can follow her adventure on Not A Pedestrian Life, or Facebook.  Quotidian Home is a place of comfort from which to show hospitality, of joining with friends for food, fun, laughter, and tears.


Anna Blanch Rabe
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3 thoughts on “Healing Silence

  1. There’s so much healing and strength that comes from the silence, even if the silence lasts for a number of years. I need silence more than food, I think. I love the pre-dawn stillness best – there’s so much promise and hope at that hour!

    I look forward to seeing the seasons change – the heart seasons – and to the unfolding of your story, Anna. Your love of adventure fascinates me!

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