To sit in silence. And listen.

Imagine a space of love, grace, and acceptance. Everywhere is warm and you are always met with a hug, accompanied by a hearty smile. This place feels safe. That is the only word that truly describes it. Safe. It is nestled in the place where it always has been and the structure in which it exists never changes. It is constant and never lonely. It is peaceful.

There are hard times, but in those moments you are never alone. There is always a hand guiding you gently away from the grief. You understand that the sadness exists, but in this space you are allowed to let go of it. You can undo the heavy weights tied around your feet and float up to air. You are allowed to feel free of your pain.

To sit in silence. And listen.

We all have this place. It is always there for you, no matter where it is.

This space is unapologetic and it lends you room to hear your own thoughts. It pulls you away from the noisy and crowded other. It allows you to be thankful for what you have now and what you someday may receive. And in the background of the quiet, you can hear soft music. Melodies that you have heard your whole life, but they never get old. They are simply a backdrop for your thoughts. A canvas onto which your inner hopes and dreams dance. They inspire your thoughts to be like notes falling off the strings of a lilting violin. It is the harmony in this music that allows you to feel separate from your pain.

To sit in silence. And listen.

This place has always been there for me. It has given me everything I have asked for. It has allowed me to feel peaceful and safe. And I have tried my best to give this same peace and warmth back.

I am rejuvenated in this place. It gives me the power to open myself to the busy and boisterous world. It's castle doors always open and I am ultimately faced with the truth. There is very little quiet left. Very little sacred left.

No spaces to sit in silence. And listen.

So, I return. And as the walls of noise slide ever closer to the silence, I push back. It is my duty to preserve this peace. It is my responsibility to share this safety. The castle doors are thick and the brick walls are strong, but I alone cannot hold them. I must preserve the music that rings softly in my ears, even when the instruments have stopped. I do not save it for myself, or for the castle that it occupies. I save it for those who need this sacred space more than I. For the people who are lost in the noise, crushed by its unbearable weight. Those who are almost numb to the uproar from the length of exposure. I push back and fight for this place for those who need to feel free from their pain.

To sit in silence. And listen.