I’ve been trying to get very quiet sometimes lately, like as still and quiet as you’d get if you were crouching in the forest hoping a beautiful wild thing would come wander over and lay its head in your hand. It takes a bit of practice. The general volume inside and out of my head is historically a bit more “auctioneer” than “anchorite.”
But I’m trying. I’m turning down various knobs and finding more room for quiet, more of the time.
This way, sometimes, I can hear my soul. She doesn’t say much, but if I get quiet enough, I’ll move toward something and she’ll say one of two things:
Maybe in time she’ll move on to full sentences—or I’ll turn down the knobs even more so I can hear her at length.
But for now all she does is turn me subtly like a divining rod, and whether it’s her moving me or me, I’m grateful.