Silence

August 21. Buderium. Sunshine Coast

Dear Daughter,

I’ve been exploring silence lately. It feels counterintuitive, though promising. Being an outspoken woman who has suffered the spell of being silenced from expressing mistreatment and abuse, I made a pact with myself to never swallow my words again. I hear the echo of Marguerite Duras’ words: “to write, is also not to speak. It is to keep silent. It is to howl noiselessly.” Hear me howl. 

A fortnight ago, I lost my voice. (To my partner's relief, I'm sure.) I was forced to quieten. To listen. Silence leaves us to feel. I had been over-talking. Angerona, the Roman goddess of silence and secrecy, came to me in a dream. In a posture of discomfort, she held her finger to her lips. “Shhhh.” It was time to hear. Introducing silence during a time when there was so much I wished to express felt similar to the full moon exposing the night. We tend to whisper under a full moon as if we mistakenly awaken the sunrise. I read somewhere once, “It is the space in between the notes that makes the music. ”Terry Tempest Williams wrote, “Silence creates a pathway to peace through pain, the pain of a distracted and frantic mind before it becomes still.”

I have noticed, through this silence experiment, that the less I speak, the more your father returns to me to share his experience. I still do not fully understand my role as a partner while being a mother. I suppose we will also teethe simultaneously, my daughter. How do I switch gears? How do I unsee myself with the internalised male gaze? I wish I had never known it. For now, I let the sound of the pouring rain hitting the canopy of trees outside our guesthouse cleanse my mind until no more thoughts pollute nature's symphony.

You lay in my lap. In deep slumber. My crossed legs, the perfect-sized bed for you. Nap trapped. I hear Kookaburras. I miss laughing like them. Keyboard typing. A distant hum. Clouds are excellent sounding boards. They have been shaped by wind. Silence is honouring the stillness that we crave in the natural world. Our capacity to listen is heightened by our ability to remain quiet. Birds. Rain splashes the pavement. There is no such thing as an empty space or wasted time. In silence, there are sounds all around us. Try as we may to make silence, we cannot. I experience vibration more than the absence of sound. The Emotional body speaks. She is crying.

At home, I feel lonely. I live with Men. I love them. Though the lack of emotional resonance hurts more than swallowing my expression. I am the selkie woman. The seal mermaid, whose skin has been stolen and she can no longer return to the sea. I have traded in my freedom for this new life. There is an undercurrent of conflict between my human and spirit roles in this world. Often, I go out to be held in the arms of the earth mother while I hold you. To return to my soul home and give you a taste of who we are and where we come from. I need to feel nature’s breath move through my eyelashes while my breath winds through yours. Your curious face takes it all in. I’m proud. Sometimes [mummy] just needs to be around something real, something that’s wild.

It’s still pouring with rain, and now we are sitting at a cafe opposite the beach. The sound of the cars rushing past on the puddled road is loud. I love to hear louder sounds than the unspoken polluting home. The ocean is relatively calm. Waves smash where ocean meets the sand, creating copious white wash. A mirror. I feel the same. You lean into my chest, I finish my coffee, and I walk us, umbrellaled, through the sand and rocks hugging the coast. Rain. Energetic cleanse. Soul rinsing. The only other life form I see near is an Australian bush turkey, weathering the downpour. A messenger. Known for their ability to thrive in diverse environments and their adaptability to changing circumstances. They build mounds and are dedicated to that process even when setbacks mean they must start again. Their nature represents the importance of working with the earth, remaining connected to nature, nurturing without attachment, persisting through challenges and standing your ground in confidence. I’m grateful for its reminder while I navigate my internal world on this walk with you at my chest.

We stand under the tree we had nested under for shade when the sun shone a few days ago. The rain buckets down. We are weather-borne. I sway and sing you the song of water, remaining in the limits of the small umbrella. The song takes me back to when I once bellowed it into a waterfall while travelling tropical north Queensland years before your Earth arrival. “Let me be like water, fluid and forgiving, Let me be like water, leeettttt, me beeeee, likee waaaa, aaaa, ter.” I pause to contemplate my disagreement to water being forgiving. Her persistence in this moment feels like discipline. My arms ache with fire holding you and balancing the umbrella against the occasional wind. My feet, shoes and the seam of my pants are soaked. You are warm and dry. Accomplishment floods my face into a smile. I feel water is unforgiving. Water is boss. What she says goes. We must surrender to how she wishes to flow. We chose to protect ourselves from her wet or to immerse, fully. Perhaps the forgiving part is her ability to wash away all transgressions without question.

With this mental revelation, the rain simmers, you huff like a pony and It’s now safe to make tracks back to the car, not before winking at the ocean for hearing her message in due thanks to silence.