The Frequency of Silence

Some people are tuned to a different kind of frequency.

They don’t chase noise, they listen to what lives beneath it.

While the world races to be seen, they stay still long enough to see through.

They feel what others overlook, the pulse behind a word, the residue of a song, the truth that trembles before it speaks.

It’s not arrogance. It’s attunement.

Like trees, they root deeper to understand the wind.

Like water, they move around what’s solid, never fighting, only flowing.

There’s a quiet kind of rebellion in choosing slowness.

In a world that sells echoes, they choose the origin of sound.

In a culture that feeds on attention, they feed on presence.

Their sensitivity is not fragility.

It’s their compass, their way of navigating the invisible.

They are translators of vibration, architects of stillness.

The mountain doesn’t apologize for standing alone.

It simply rises, unshaken, immovable, a reminder that silence can also speak.