Out of Silence – Five Years Later

Greetings, friends!

Five years ago, in October 2017, I published my first blog post: “Out of Silence”. In it, I described my journey from noisy word-saturation to contemplative silence, expressing the hope that my writing would henceforth flow from that place of quiet truth. 

I come to you now five years later: on that same journey, expressing that same hope. 

It has certainly been an eventful five years, word-wise. A month after I started this blog, I released the Gatekeeper trilogy; one year later, I released The Ancient; in between, I released my first poetry book, Songs in the Gate: Poems from the Borderland of Now and Not Yet; three years after that poetry book, I released its sequel: Songs in the Garden: Poems from the Land of Becoming. All the while, I have been working on a new fantasy series, centered on the adventures of one Brad Kendrick; book one, The Land of Loss, was born in July 2019; book two, The Land of Fear, crossed the finish line in August 2021, but is still in the editing process; books three, four, and five are in development. I also dipped my toe back into the traditional publishing lane and am still in the midst of querying agents for Brad.

I am afraid new career opportunities and responsibilities have left this blog rather unattended, but I thought the five-year anniversary was a fitting occasion for popping back on to share some of my most recent revelations.

You see, I learn a great deal by writing. Often, I do not realize how I truly think or feel about something until I write through it. My characters — in addition to being excellent company — have been faithful teachers and fellow students:

• Anna Merritt and her friends taught me about growing up, letting go, and the painful beauty of living in the “in between” times.
• The Last, Daibhi, and all the Ancients reminded me that we stand on giants’ shoulders — and gave me the courage to leap.
• Brad and co. have been rather relentlessly specific:
  • My time in the Land of Loss taught me about grief, of course, but even more so about what true love looks like — romantic, platonic, and familial. 
  • The Land of Fear gave me PLENTY of opportunities to work through some lifelong latent anxiety issues. (Fun for days, let me tell you.)

But the real fun has been waiting for me in book three: The Land of Rest.

If you’ve spent any amount of time in this blog, you know my relationship with rest is complicated at best (tortured at worst); so, as I prepare to write this book, I have found myself slightly at a loss. Yet the journey of this blog — which is really a chronicle of my own heart-journey over the last five years — has proved again and again the importance of sitting in that “at a loss” feeling, however uncomfortable it may be. 

And, as I sit, certain truths are starting to bubble to the surface; first among them is the fact that rest can actually be a tumultuous experience. Only when one is at rest can those unresolved issues emerge from their buried caves to stand and be counted. Only when my heart is quiet can I begin to distinguish among the myriad of voices clamoring for my attention, recognizing which is true (and then rejecting all the liars). 

As I meditated on in that very first blog, quoting Henri Nouwen:

“A word with power is a word that comes out of silence. A word that bears fruit is a word that emerges from the silence and returns to it.”

Thank you, dear reader, for continuing on the journey with me.

I leave you with my latest poem — one of the fruits that has burst through the soil of silence I am still learning to cultivate. May it bless you. 

“Out of Silence”

I went into the woods because
I wanted to deliberate
To clarify the obfuscated
Analyze what’s percolated
From my simmering soul

Now as I sip, I marvel
At this strange effect of quiet
Still contemplating why it
Is only after riot
That the bells of silence toll

And how, when I slow down enough
To be caught in their pealing
I swing from buried ceiling
To land in unearthed feeling
Surprised by patient healing
Laid in wait to make me whole