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Sounds of Silence

Silence takes many forms. At Cathedral Gorge State Park upon the indigenous territories of the Fremont and Southern Paiutes in Nevada it is the absence of wind whistling through the clay canyons. A deep, sacred silence. A contemplative silence in which I can detect the scurry of a mottled lizard seeking shade. It half-heartedly performs five push-ups on an outcrop before scampering back into the mouth of a mouse-sized cavity. Then the hot breeze picks up again, scattering sand up into my face. I choke and cough, but stay in place, thankful for the ravines’ cooler temperatures in the desert heat.

Outside the beige cliffs, silence is the sound of my feet thumping along the hardened kaolin trail. Juniper and sage fall from me on either side, expanding into a mirage of replicating undulations. Looking back at the buff spires, I can hardly believe all those slitted entrances exist to transport me into a world of shadowed textures. The naturally sculpted walls keep their counsel — preserving stories of Pliocene gilled creatures and eruptive volcanoes, hunter and hunted. A hawk circles the azure, uttering baleful shrieks which tear the tranquil fabric. I envy the bird’s boldness. The inexorable warmth stifles my voice, dampens my movements so that I skulk in the openness…watchful, though nothing materializes for miles.

Silence conceals as often as it reveals. Alone with my thoughts in this arid landscape, I think about the matters I’ve left unsaid for various reasons. Tales I’m unwilling to tell. Though every story betrays the storyteller, we are not the sum of our chronicles. Yet, how often I continue to mistake comprehension of an artist through their creations. How many have falsely believed the same of me. An embroidered butterfly flashes out of a primrose bush. I rush to make allegory of this scene, to imbue it with some sort of significance…again desperate to control the narrative, instead of letting it be what it is: a change disclosed to my lucky senses. The winged creature collects, amplifies, is its own outside of my intentions. 

There is so much silence in the ordinary. Sometimes it can be misread as indifference. Or forgetfulness. Growing up I became used to silence. It filled our home and my days as I navigated two languages and two cultures. It sunk heritage and histories my family thought better left in the dark. It faded memories and wisdom they had no tools to translate. An unfillable gap. An irretrievable loss. The depositions of sediment around me speak of other losses too easily silenced: testimonies of those who’ve gone before and those who survive, cradled still within this land. Sagas vanished into the vortex of violence which I will never hear or read.

Someone I lost once told me, “silence begins with the mouth.” Do I always understand when keeping peace is helpful, when it is harmful? The silence of not speaking comes easily to me: I keep quiet in order to not be “the problem,” to not attract the “wrong” sort of attention. The silencing of truth is part of the human condition. Together with the silences born out of fear and shame, they perpetuate the harm I bring to myself and others. The pain does not lessen because I stay silent. Nor does death walk away from my muteness. 

There is also the power of healing in silence founded on love. Not a silence of hiding, but in being together without speaking. Silence as a key to understanding the essential, not a choice bent from the desire to protect, or minimize future unpleasantness. Such quiet transforms the receiver into that brief puddle of light which illuminates the heart. I sit in the wordlessness of the desert, exhausted from the fever of my hike. I drink in the leaves of sky peeping through petrified dunes and listen to the sands singing. There’s so much to unpack in the silence surrounding me.


Cryptobiotic soil is the gel that holds life together in the sparse vegetated areas of the Nevada desert. As it stabilizes the top layer from wind and water erosion, it invites lichens, mosses, and algae to proliferate on rocks and other hard surfaces, promoting propagation of wildlife. 

When have you kept silent and later realized you should have spoken? Has the opposite been true? I’d love to know about your experience in the comments below.

85 replies »

  1. I love the way you write and how it flows. Every word is full of passion and carefully spoken it just amazes me how one can turn a much smaller simpler topic like silence to an amazing masterpiece. Writers behold power in their words and you have never proven me wrong. I love it.

  2. I felt the silence envelope me as I looked at your wonderful images. What a glorious place to visit, I’d love to see those formations and listen to the quiet.

    • It is a lovely place where not too many people visit. Not as famous as the slot canyons of Utah or Arizona, however this spot has equal charm for me. Thanks so much for stopping by to read and chat with me. Hope this finds you well.

  3. I like looking at the world through your camera lens, and experiencing it through your words.

    The concept of Letting It Be is something I struggle with, but I’m happy to say I’m getting better at it. I used to think you should never let things ride, but I’m doing it more often – and guess what? The world hasn’t ended! 😉

    • 😁 It is funny how much importance we give ourselves and how hard it is for us to hold both dualities in ourselves: that who we are has value outside of what we do and also that we are an insignificant portion of this universe. Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts on this and for your kind words! Wishing you well.

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