Silence Which Nothing Destroys

There is nothing quite as restorative as taking a quiet hike in the woods. For some, it can be as different from the noise and business of their reality as stepping onto a different planet. Everything smells so rich and clean, the colors are so brilliant and every inch is vibrating with life. I always feel like every cell in my body relaxes and slows down and I find myself listening with by whole body.

It’s in this state that sometimes I will sometimes experience an unexpected feeling of sadness or heaviness in a particular area. This ground we walk on today has been around for a long time and often has a very brutal story to tell. There is an imprint that has been left in these spaces. There are often blood-stained fragments only moments from where you walk and echoes of tears on the wind.

Take a moment from your parades and family gatherings and get silent in nature. Connect deeply with the painful, frightening stories of the past and send love to the ones that are ongoing. Breathe deeply and honor the sacrifice.

Return then, to the peace of that same space, to the silence which nothing destroys. Bring it back to your hustle and bustle with gratitude.

Consider the following poem by  George Fraser Gallie, written in November, 1943.

It is quiet here now, the valley is silent.

Only the birds and the stream have their noise,
The twittering, bubbling sweet sounds of nature.
Apart from this – silence which nothing destroys.

The smell is a faint one of morning and pine trees,
Of bracken and water, of woodland and stream,
The sight is of rushes, of mill house and lime trees.
The feel is of peacefulness sweet as a dream.

But at one time this valley, this valley of heaven,
Became a most torturous valley of hell.
For the fighting was bitter, the Hun held on grimly,
Regardless of losses, and many men fell.

For the British came north and the silence was shattered,
By rifle – machine gun – trench mortar – grenade.
The Messerschmitt diving bought sickening terror,
The valley vibrated with Death’s serenade.

But the British advanced and the valley was taken,
The fighting moved northward as Gerry moved back,
And the only remains to give proof of the fighting,
Are freshly dug graves at the side of the track.

Again it is peaceful, the valley is silent,
Only the birds and the stream have their noise,
The twittering, bubbling sounds of nature.
Apart from this – silence which nothing destroys.

George Fraser Gallie, November, 1943.

Written by hottomatopinupacademy8

Founder and former co-owner of Hot Tomato Pin-Up Academy,