When Silence Becomes Part of the Practice
There is a moment after a gong has been played when the sound begins to fade.
The vibrations soften.
The resonance changes.
The room gradually becomes quieter.
And eventually, what remains is silence.
I have come to appreciate those moments just as much as the sounds themselves.
As a Sound Alchemist, I spend a great deal of time working with gongs, Tibetan singing bowls, hand pan, and other instruments. I listen to the way sounds develop, how they interact with one another, and how they gradually disappear.
But I have also learned that I do not need to fill every moment with sound.
Sometimes the most meaningful part of a listening experience is the space between the notes.
Sometimes it is the moment when an instrument is no longer being played.
Sometimes it is simply being present without another sound being introduced.
And sometimes silence is exactly what I want.
Listening First. Nothing Is Required.
The World Is Rarely Quiet
We live in a world filled with sound.
Traffic.
Televisions.
Telephones.
Conversations.
Notifications.
Music.
News.
Advertisements.
The constant stream of information coming from our computers and mobile devices.
Even when we are sitting alone, there may be something competing for our attention.
Another message.
Another notification.
Another video.
Another reason to check what is happening somewhere else.
I have noticed how easy it can be to fill every available moment.
We turn on music while cleaning.
We listen to something while exercising.
We check our phones while waiting.
We reach for entertainment when a room becomes quiet.
There is nothing inherently wrong with enjoying those things.
I love music.
I love creating it.
I enjoy listening to other artists.
And I appreciate the convenience of technology.
But I have also come to value the moments when I do not need anything playing in the background.
When I can sit with my tea.
When I can hear the birds outside.
When I can enjoy the quiet of my home.
When I do not need to respond to anyone.
When nothing is demanding my attention.
Those moments remind me that I do not have to fill every space in my life.
Silence Is Part of Music
One of the things I appreciate about playing a gong is that the sound continues long after the initial strike.
A gong does not simply produce a note and stop.
Its resonance develops.
Different tones emerge.
The sound expands and changes.
And eventually, it begins to fade.
If I immediately strike the gong again, I change what the listener has an opportunity to hear.
Sometimes that is exactly what I want to do creatively.
Other times, I prefer to allow the sound to complete its natural progression.
I listen.
I wait.
I notice what remains.
The same is true when I work with Tibetan singing bowls.
A single strike can produce a sustained tone that gradually becomes softer.
There may be subtle changes in the resonance as the sound fades.
Sometimes I allow that sound to disappear completely before introducing another.
Other times, I allow the tones to overlap.
Neither approach is inherently better.
They are different creative choices.
What matters to me is that I am listening rather than automatically filling the space.
Silence is not necessarily an absence of music. Sometimes it is part of the composition.
The Space Between Sounds
When I create a listening session, I am paying attention to more than the instruments.
I am listening to the spaces between them.
The pause after a gong.
The quiet following a Tibetan singing bowl.
The moment before a hand pan melody begins.
The natural sounds that may be present in the recording environment.
Those spaces create room for the sounds to be heard individually.
They also influence the overall rhythm of the recording.
I do not believe that every moment needs to contain a note.
I do not need to prove that I am creating something by constantly playing an instrument.
Sometimes I can allow the previous sound to exist without adding another.
That is part of my creative process.
It is also part of how I have come to understand my own life.
There are moments when I want to create.
Moments when I want to speak.
Moments when I want to move.
And moments when I simply want to be quiet
.
I do not need to treat those quiet moments as empty spaces waiting to be filled.
They are part of the rhythm of my life.
Silence Does Not Always Feel Peaceful
There is something important I want to acknowledge.
Silence is not automatically calming.
For some people, quiet moments are welcome.
For others, silence can feel uncomfortable.
It may bring attention to thoughts, emotions, memories, or physical sensations that are easier to overlook when something else is happening.
For people who have experienced trauma, silence may sometimes feel unfamiliar or unsettling.
I understand that from my own experiences.
There have been times when I have wanted quiet.
And there have been times when I have preferred music, movement, or another form of activity.
I do not believe that one choice is more spiritually meaningful than another.
I do not believe someone should be pressured to sit in silence because a facilitator thinks it will help them heal.
And I do not believe discomfort in silence automatically means that a person needs to push through it.
Sometimes we need a different environment.
Sometimes we want music.
Sometimes we want conversation.
Sometimes we want movement.
And sometimes we want silence.
Those preferences can change.
Listening First means respecting what feels appropriate in the moment, not forcing ourselves to enjoy quiet.
You Do Not Have to Empty Your Mind
One of the most common misconceptions about meditation is that the mind must become completely quiet.
People often tell me they cannot meditate because they cannot stop thinking.
Their minds wander.
They remember something they need to do.
They notice a sound.
They begin thinking about tomorrow.
They become distracted.
But I do not believe a listening practice requires the absence of thought.
Thoughts are part of being human.
I can listen to a Tibetan singing bowl while thinking about something else.
I can notice a gong's resonance and then realize my attention has wandered.
I can sit quietly and recognize that my mind is busy.
I do not have to criticize myself for any of those experiences.
I do not have to begin again because I lost concentration.
And I do not have to achieve a particular mental state before I can enjoy sound.
Sometimes I am completely absorbed in the music.
Other times, my attention moves between the sound and whatever else is on my mind.
Both experiences are allowed.
The practice is not about proving that I can control every thought.
It is about having the freedom to notice what I notice.
My Relationship with Quiet Has Changed
My relationship with silence has evolved through different periods of my life.
As a Navy veteran, I experienced environments where there was always something happening.
Responsibilities.
Schedules.
People.
Noise.
Expectations.
Later, as I navigated trauma, grief, relationships, and significant life changes, I began to appreciate having more control over my surroundings.
I learned that I enjoy my own company.
I enjoy having time to myself.
I enjoy deciding whether I want music playing.
I enjoy choosing when I want to interact with other people.
And I enjoy not having to explain every decision.
There is freedom in being able to sit quietly without someone asking what is wrong.
There is freedom in not having to make conversation.
There is freedom in not having to entertain anyone.
There is freedom in simply being present in my own home.
For me, silence can be an expression of personal autonomy.
It can mean that I am choosing how I want to spend my time.
And that choice matters.
Silence Is Not the Same as Being Silenced
As a survivor advocate, I recognize an important distinction between choosing silence and being silenced.
They are not the same thing.
There is a difference between deciding not to speak and being told that your voice does not matter.
There is a difference between keeping something private and having someone pressure you to remain quiet about what happened.
There is a difference between choosing not to share your story and being discouraged from telling it.
I have spent years using my voice through advocacy, poetry, writing, and music.
I have spoken about experiences that people would sometimes prefer not to acknowledge.
I have written words that challenge silence surrounding sexual violence and Military Sexual Trauma.
And I have made choices about which parts of my personal history I want to share.
Those choices belong to me.
I can be outspoken about injustice while remaining private about my own life.
I can write poetry inspired by my experiences without providing every detail.
I can create music that reflects parts of my story without revealing the whole story.
I can decide that a particular conversation is not one I want to have.
Choosing silence is not the same as surrendering my voice.
Sometimes choosing not to speak is an expression of that voice.
It is my decision.
It is my boundary.
It is my right.
I Do Not Owe Anyone My Story
There is an expectation in some healing spaces that people should share their experiences.
Tell their stories.
Discuss their trauma.
Explain their emotions.
Reveal what they are working through.
And sometimes those opportunities can be meaningful when they are freely chosen.
But I do not believe that personal disclosure should be a requirement for participating in a listening session, workshop, or other supportive environment.
I do not have to explain why a particular sound makes me uncomfortable.
I do not have to describe my trauma history to justify keeping my eyes open.
I do not have to discuss my emotions after a listening session.
I do not have to tell someone why I prefer to sit rather than lie down.
And I do not have to reveal private experiences simply because someone asks.
My silence does not mean I am withholding something that another person is entitled to receive.
It means I am choosing what belongs in the conversation.
The same freedom belongs to everyone.
You can participate without telling your story.
You can listen without explaining what you felt.
You can leave an experience without giving a personal account of why.
Your privacy deserves respect.
Nature Reminds Me That Quiet Is Not Empty
One of the things I enjoy about living in Southern Ohio is the natural world surrounding me.
I hear birds in my backyard.
Carolina wrens.
Mockingbirds.
Blue jays.
Cardinals.
Robins.
Woodpeckers.
And many other birds that make their homes in this area.
Their calls and songs are part of the environment where I live and create.
Sometimes those sounds become part of my recordings.
Sometimes I simply enjoy listening to them.
What I appreciate about nature is that it does not require my participation.
The birds are not singing because I am listening.
The wind is not moving through the trees because I need something from it.
The world continues whether I am creating music or sitting quietly.
I can enjoy those sounds without turning the experience into a meditation.
I can notice the birds without needing to identify every call.
I can sit outside without taking a photograph.
I can appreciate the moment without documenting it.
And sometimes, what I call silence is not complete silence at all.
It is simply the absence of demands.
The natural sounds remain.
But nothing is asking me to respond.
The Silence After the Gong
There is a particular moment in a gong recording that I appreciate.
The final sound has been played.
The resonance is fading.
The recording is approaching its end.
And there is nothing else I need to add.
I do not need to fill that moment with instructions.
I do not need to tell listeners what they should have experienced.
I do not need to ask them to reflect on their emotions.
I do not need to explain what the sound was supposed to accomplish.
I can allow the recording to end.
The listener can decide what happens next.
Perhaps they remain seated for a few moments.
Perhaps they get up and continue their day.
Perhaps they replay the recording.
Perhaps they turn on different music.
Perhaps they enjoy the quiet.
All of those choices belong to them.
I do not need to direct the experience beyond the sound I have chosen to share.
Sometimes the most respectful ending is simply allowing the music to fade.
Silence in Relationships
I have also come to appreciate the importance of quiet in my relationships.
I do not believe every silence needs to be interpreted as a problem.
Sometimes people are busy.
Sometimes they are caring for their families.
Sometimes they are dealing with responsibilities that have nothing to do with me.
Sometimes they simply need time to themselves.
I understand that.
At the same time, I have learned to recognize the difference between giving someone space and continually carrying a relationship alone.
I do not need to fill every silence by reaching out first.
I do not need to maintain every connection through my own effort.
I can appreciate people while also recognizing when a relationship is no longer reciprocal.
And I can step away without turning that decision into an argument.
Silence can sometimes reveal what is happening in a relationship.
But I do not need to assign meaning to every unanswered message.
I can pay attention to patterns over time.
I can make choices about where I invest my energy.
And I can allow relationships to be what they are without forcing them to become something else.
Stepping Away from the Constant Noise of Social Media
One of the ways I have been creating more quiet in my life is by stepping away from the constant activity of social media.
For years, I have shared my music, poetry, writing, and advocacy online.
I have created posts.
Scheduled content.
Shared new releases.
And made my work available to people who want to listen or read.
But I have also recognized that I do not need to remain constantly connected.
I do not need to check every notification.
I do not need to watch how many people respond.
I do not need to fill my day with scrolling.
My work continues to exist when I am offline.
My music remains available.
My poetry remains meaningful.
My writing remains part of the world.
And I remain a creative person even when I am not posting anything.
Stepping away gives me more time to enjoy the things I love.
Writing.
Music.
Photography.
Nature.
Movement.
Quiet mornings.
And simply living my life.
I do not need every moment to be shared.
Some experiences can belong entirely to me.
Silence Can Be a Boundary
There are times when silence is not about rest.
It is about choice.
I can decide not to respond to a disrespectful comment.
I can choose not to explain a boundary repeatedly.
I can decline to participate in an argument.
I can stop sharing personal information with someone who has not respected my trust.
I can choose not to continue a conversation.
Those decisions do not mean I have nothing to say.
They mean I am deciding when and where I want to use my voice.
I have spent years advocating for survivors and speaking about difficult subjects.
I know the importance of speaking up.
But I also know that I do not have to engage with every person who demands my attention.
My voice is mine.
So is my silence.
And I am allowed to choose both.
Quiet Does Not Have to Become Another Goal
There is a tendency in wellness spaces to turn almost everything into a practice we are supposed to master.
Meditate longer.
Become more mindful.
Spend more time in silence.
Develop greater concentration.
Learn to sit with discomfort.
But I do not want silence to become another assignment.
I do not need to sit quietly for twenty minutes to prove that I can.
I do not need to eliminate distractions to have a meaningful day.
I do not need to become comfortable with every sensation that arises.
I do not need to force myself into an environment that feels unpleasant.
If I want quiet, I can choose quiet.
If I want music, I can choose music.
If I want conversation, I can choose conversation.
If I want to move, I can move.
Listening First means recognizing that my needs and preferences may change.
There is no requirement to make silence a daily achievement.
The Freedom to Simply Listen
When I think about the philosophy behind my work, I return to something simple.
I want people to have the freedom to experience sound without pressure.
To listen without being evaluated.
To notice without being instructed to change.
To participate without having to explain themselves.
To stop without guilt.
And to enjoy the spaces between sounds without being told what those moments are supposed to mean.
Silence can be beautiful.
It can also be uncomfortable.
It can feel restful.
It can feel unfamiliar.
It can be chosen.
It can be declined.
And it can change from one moment to the next.
There is room for all of those experiences.
I do not believe the purpose of a listening session is to force silence into someone's mind or body.
I believe it can simply offer an opportunity to hear what is present.
Sometimes that includes music.
Sometimes that includes the sounds of nature.
Sometimes that includes the quiet after a gong has faded.
And sometimes it includes deciding that we would rather do something else.
An Invitation to Notice the Space Between Sounds
The next time you listen to music, perhaps you will notice the spaces between the notes.
The moment after a Tibetan singing bowl has been struck.
The fading resonance of a gong.
The pause before another melody begins.
Or perhaps you will simply enjoy the music without paying attention to any of those details.
Both are welcome
.
You do not have to sit in silence.
You do not have to clear your mind.
You do not have to close your eyes.
You do not have to meditate.
You do not have to make the experience meaningful.
And you do not have to share what you notice.
If quiet feels welcome, you can enjoy it.
If you prefer sound, you can choose sound.
If you want to step outside and listen to the birds, that is an option.
If you want to turn on your favorite music and dance, that is an option, too.
There is no single correct way to listen.
There is no requirement to be still.
There is no expectation that silence must change you.
Sometimes silence is simply silence.
And sometimes that is enough.
Listening First. Nothing Is Required.
About the Author
Julie Jewels Smoot is a United States Navy veteran, author, poet, survivor advocate, and Sound Alchemist. Her creative work includes original gong recordings, Tibetan singing bowl listening sessions, hand pan music, guided meditations, poetry, and writing that explores personal autonomy, consent, rest, and body awareness.
Through her philosophy, Listening First. Nothing Is Required., she offers sound experiences that honor individual choice, personal boundaries, and the freedom to listen without expectations.
Explore her music, articles, and listening experiences at:
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