VOWS of Vocal Silence?
- Sansa Aranya
- Aug 4
- 6 min read
What is she on about now?
Well, I'll tell you. But probably only right here by blog and outside my place in chalk for a little while. And only for those who'll listen.
You see, that's kind of the point.
The way out of this for me looks like one, or both, of two paths.
In any case, both involve me sitting still, focusing, and producing something people will listen to.
Something to be seen. Something to be read. Something to be heard. Something to be felt.
All from vocal silence. Why? Why not, who's listening anyway?
I figure: if I put myself in time out, shut one of my own distractions down, breathe, and discipline myself to focus the energy, something is bound to happen.
These vocals could use a rest anyway.
Where is this coming from, Sansa?
People stfu all the time, what does it matter if the world is a little bit quieter for the absence of your voice, I ask myself. Fair point, I reply.
See, it's silence and solace until I am steady, my project soundly supported, my future secured by my own making. The answers stew their burning tickles in the front left of my throat.
I don't really drink alcohol, but I sure as fuck have tried to smoke it out, tried to ohm it out, tried to cough it out, tried to cry it out, tried to sing it out, tried to choke it out, tried to yell it out...
Indeed, I have tried to whisper it out, tried to chew it out, burn it out, drown it out once or twice (these neurons are vital), and have tried to mouth-wash it out repetitively (I actually made my own from essential oils and I love it)..
Still it scratches and burns: this throat, itching to say something ever unheard.. this hidden sum of things.. grumbling, gasping, and annoying...
..sleepily daring me to be strong enough to pull it out.. a sweet something tucked away, just around the corner of reach, just out of listeners view... just barely within mine.
I pause for coffee and reflect...
It's 6;30p, a lovely evening, if a bit cool for me. I cannot deny the beauty of this temp and sweetness in the air..
Horns honk softly as they pass.. little beeps I like to imagine in support...
The chalk display on healing I've started wrapping this corner like a healing barrier.
The coffee feels good on the throat.
It's hot.
Burns the scratches, also makes me feel more like a writer, anyhow.
Just getting really going as the sun starts to go down.
A new way of living for now.
People talk about whatever I write on the sidewalk. I listen.
Its wonderful to hear voices.
I shall plan the next mural carefully, according to the words I've heard from inside, ever-in practice.
One of many great bits of feedback, right from a strangers lips outside the window, as well one of my angel mentor..
The display is a bit chaotic, hard to read. Doubly noted!
And so, I shall organize my brain vomit to be more organized and fetching to the eyes.
Thank you for that piece of gold, my friends.
It's been over 24 hours now, have I learned anything so far?
It's a powerful practice in listening, this vocal restraint.. so far as I've noticed thus far.
Perhaps an obvious note, but have you considered what to listen to when there's nothing to listen to?
Gets pretty quiet around here. I'm re-reading Siddhartha and have been contemplating the recitation, "Om is the bow, the arrow is the soul, [Truth], the arrows only goal, at which one aims unflinchingly."
These feel like good words to listen to.
My brain does not want music right now, though the musics that pass along the ashram are enjoyable for the reminders that people exist in their lives and loves just outside this bunker of madness.
Last night there were singers. Lots of them.
Singing happily songs of joyous love in Spanish. I adored every holler, every laugh, every throat rattle hoot, and every single bit of harmony.
Thank you for the entertainment, gentlemen.
My brain does not want sound by my choosing at all right now.
That's helpful, at least. Quiet is nice. Earplugs are brilliant.
My brain, my brain, my brain. I'm exhausted talking about my brain.
I'm tired of everything.
Tired of sleeping. Tired of eating. Tired of trying. Tired of hiding.
Tired of healing, in truth..
Tired of rebuilding, tired of exhaling fear, tired of accessing creativity just to have it fall short only because another fee came through as "vitally important" for continuation.
Continuation. Continuation. Continuation,
What about success?
When does anyone get to succeed,
if every four weeks another round of "you better, or else" begins?
When do our lights get to turn on bright for all to see if all we are forced to look at is the next upcoming bill as the item of focus...
..or more to the point, the fear, guilt, and shame often associated with not having enough money to pay them, in this case, once again?
If all we are ever doing is managing fear to pay the bills, one's life will inevitably end from internalized stress fractures throughout, I haven't a single doubt.
It is against nature to be so focused.
Which is why I'm tired.
I live in honor of my body, so I find myself in a tricky predicament.
Play the game, or die trying.
One game, or the other?, I query with curiosity?
Their game, or mine?
It's an honesty question.
They roll their energetic eyes.
Trying not to see my cleverness.
I choose my game, how about that.
If I am to die trying, may it not be in vain.
So, back to how to help myself.
Help is a tricky word.
It implies a need and quite often people run from this word.
I have found, however, we don't always run because we don't want to help.
Sometimes, perhaps even most of the time, it seems we run because we don't know how to help.
It would be against nature to assume those who love us don't want to help.
Still, help can sometimes make me feel like I have to come up with an idea to be useful, or perhaps conjure an amount of money to relieve a need, or maybe provide a load of strength I may not have even for myself in the moment.
Is it just me, or does it feel gentler to seek to be supportive?
Support can be a prayer, support can be a giggle, support can be listening.
Support can be a financial donation, indeed, but it can also be belief.
And I can attest, belief is always a relief.
I prefer less-assuming, less expectant, more indicative of a whole..
'Support' hints at: others are nearby too, not so much weight on the individual.
One cannot deny, a building is not supported by one beam alone, indeed, there are many beams, countless nails, much concrete in the foundations, and many hands that help construct.
As well, such is not brought up in but a day, or even two, of silence, no.
Temples must be carefully crafted, each corner measured for integrity, each square tested for magnitude, each chamber dusted for clarity.
Support can be a pause to feel the aspects of what another is trying to convey.
Support can be as tiny as a lean in & as powerful as forty gusts of heavenly breaths, without even a cent, and certainly no assumption of the all.
May we each forget not our value in presence and support.
I may be silent for now, but I can see, I can hear, and I love listening.
I welcome your thoughts, your questions, your support, your voice.
May our curiosity lead us through the chaos and oscillations to coves of calm, where the sun sets quietly, in its own time, bowing with its beams to the magic length of the Universe, moving ever on to wake the next angels from their slumber.
How I love the sun. Kisses of yellow from my father beyond. Yellow is my favorite, if ever I were allowed to have one, alas I am not, for that would be ignore-ant to the plethora of potential the spectrum provides.
Blessings of power in his vitamin rich beams, that yellow, burning Sun.. perhaps another reason why I'm tired, lacking connection to my source...
I need some sunshine. I miss playing outside. Perhaps tomorrow: an outing.
My throat feels less scratchy now, though the words are barely out,
Onto the next bit..
Should you like to hear more, have a particular question for the brain, or want learn about the children's book series I'm writing (little books, big wisdom), reach out by email: expand@iamsansa.com.
Today, I submitted works to two publishing companies and felt good connection to structure in my hand balance practice.
Shout out to my trainer, Adrian McCavitt, owner of The Yoga Dojo. Solid place. Best trainer.
Cirque Du Soliel, I'm getting there.
Prayers for support are appreciated. I hear sometimes the right places float the right artists funds to create.
Who do we know, y'all?
Next up: grants, angel investors, and more writing.
Venmo hi-fives: @iamsansa
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PayPal cat calls: @iamsansalove
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Investors, reach out.. I have plans.. and incentives galore. X
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