The Language of Silence

Yesterday a friend of mine sent me a text after reading my post “Diary of Miracle: Part One”. First of all, it’s not my writing. I quoted it from Ariel Ford’s book, Soulmate Secret where Ariel herself doesn’t know who the real writer is. My friend asked me why I put “Love, God” at the end of the post. Since I’m not the writer, of course I can’t represent him/her to explain why, but I think it would be nice–a little miracle, I must say–when you open your mailbox and you found this beautiful letter from God himself.

…it was full with anger I didn’t know to who. I was just desperately in need to talk to someone.

I’m sure the writer himself/herself weren’t referring to certain God (religion) when he/she wrote it, but rather the universal God. You may call Him anyway you like such as lovers/beloved in Sufism which I found very intimate and beautiful, but I think the concept is just the same and I have been fascinated by this concept since childhood.

I always think children are the spiritual creatures. They already understand the concept of God beyond what most grown-ups realize before they start to teach them organized religions. I remember it very clearly when I was a child how we loved to communicated to each other through the language of silence.

But then I hardly heard the language of silence after I was starting to grow up. I was still fascinated by the concept of God and my parents taught me we could meet Him in His holy house when we pray for Him.

Born from a Muslim family, I loved to go to mosque every afternoon to learn to recite Koran and pray five times a day. The lesson was always interesting for me as if I could go back to talk in language of silence just like I used to do. But sadly, the more I learned the more I had to rely on men of God’s interpretation or else they would judge me as a “non-believer” where my fate would be burnt in hell forever.

Nothing more painful than to live by what others imposed upon you and be self-cautious of how others see you. You are not who you really are and you feel something is missing. When I read my journal during my teens, it was full with anger I didn’t know to who. I was just desperately in need to talk to someone.

“God speaks in the language of silence. The rest is just bad translation”

At that time, I didn’t know that it was the language of silence or call it that way. Years later I found a quote from Paulo Coelho and screamed inside, “This is it! This is what I meant.” He wrote: “God speaks in the language of silence. The rest is just bad translation.” But at that time I just needed a connection and to understand how the mysterious universe worked.

I went to university to learn International Relations with curiosity of why people love hurting themselves and each other through wars either for their sustainability or for God. What I found during my years in university didn’t satisfy me enough. Not that International Relations failed to explain why people still do it until today, but I couldn’t reach to the depth of the core of the problem. I wasn’t very happy myself. Felt disconnected and lonely, I needed to go back to where I came from.

We might take the longest or the shortest way. We might even get lost. But we just try to make our way back home…

The point of no return came when I was 20. I was on the brink of the cliff over the raging stream of river (figuratively of course) and faced with the choice to jump or hang on but then fall somehow. The calling was to jump and I landed hard at first. Staggeringly, I had to rely on my intuition to keep my head above the water. I bumped on rocks and was rolled inside the wave and swallowed the water till my throat burnt.  I was crashed. Died and was alive at the same time. Then I began to trust my intuition and was fully aware of my surrounding. The stream was still raging, but instead of fighting against it, I started to let myself to be part of it.

And when I became a part of something larger than myself, little miracles started to come to me. First one was the language of silence is back. It could be in visual or auditory form, or sometimes I just did something with no reason until I understood the whole meaning later.

Last week, while flipping through channels with my remote control, I stumbled upon a religious preach, broadcasting live from somewhere. A man of God on podium said, if we want to go to Surabaya–a name of a city in Indonesia–and you don’t know which way to go, you rather go with someone who knows the direction. You can go by train or bus because the driver will take you exactly to the right place. It’s better than going by yourself and get lost. The men of God are people who know better how to get there so if you listen to them, you’re going to the right direction.

He might be talking the truth, but I believe we were all once resident of “Surabaya”. We all remember how “Surabaya” looked like, the smell and the taste of it. We might stumble and fall on our way to “Surabaya”. We might take the longest or the shortest way. We might even get lost. But we just try to make our way back home. And we will never forget something that has always been part of us since the beginning of the time.

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