“The sound of the wind through a great loom of trees is silence.” ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes

I sit down to meditate on my first morning in the bushveld.

Silence. Nothing but silence around me.

The air is teeming with energy as it settles. I am painfully aware of the silence. Back home, even in moments of deep stillness, the distant hum of traffic in the background is ever present. I’d become so used to it, I’d blocked it out. I didn’t hear it anymore, or if I did, I decided that it sounded like the ocean.

Now that I am made aware of the stark different two, I remember what real silence was. It is almost unnerving.

A breeze picks up. A gentle gust rushes through the long bush grass and something in the sound calls to me. Another gust comes. Again, I am taken by the sound it makes as it shakes the tall blades of yellow grass.

Yet another gust of passing air rushes over, this time rustling the leaves of the acacia thorn trees before me. The sound is different to before. A lower note it seems.

I move from my meditation spot and sit under the trees, listening to both the sound of the light breeze passing through the leaves and the silence in-between. In my mind’s eye I see a vision of the energy generated by the sound pouring down into my aura. It feels light, soft and fluffy like a cloud. It feels…peaceful.

Moving to the edge of the path, I listen to the grass. I am aware of how different the sound is to the wind flowing through the trees to that of the dancing grasses. It seems the wind, the trees and the grasses are musicians at play, coming together to conjure up different notes of the same song – a beautiful timeless ballad called Peace.