Listening to the Silence Between Things

There is a kind of listening that goes beyond sound.

It happens when words fall short. When explanations grow thin. When the usual noise of life dims—by choice or by force—and we find ourselves in unfamiliar stillness.

This silence isn’t empty. It hums. It holds. It reveals.

But only if we let it.

Most of us are trained to fill the space: with plans, opinions, reassurances. We reach for the next answer, the next step, the next thing to say. Silence feels risky. Vulnerable. Like standing unclothed in a room full of people who are still pretending.

And yet…

When we stop filling the silence, we begin to feel its texture.

The pauses between breaths. The way light stretches across a room. The subtle ache of being in a body. The quiet knowing that doesn’t speak in words.

It is in this space that presence lives. Not in the declarations, but in the in-between. The unfinished. The unspoken.

This kind of listening doesn’t fix or perform. It simply says: I am here. I am with.

It is enough.