The Artist is Present in the Void: Moving from Mantra Sounds into Silence

What is this noise we carry? We live in an economy of attention that demands we constantly become something else, something better, something more refined. But in this shared space, we are not looking for a way out or a ladder to climb. We are simply looking at what is. If we sit for a few minutes and share this silence, we aren't practicing a technique to reach a destination. Silence is always here. It is under every noise, behind every word, and beneath every breath. It is a way of sharing something that is not personal—something much vaster than the little story of "me." Look at this moment right now. It is everything. There are sounds, colors, smells, physical sensations, thoughts, and memories. These experiences appear and disappear, never to return exactly as they are. We are so used to this flow that we call it mundane, but if we look with new eyes, it is incredible. No sound ever repeats itself perfectly. No form presents itself twice in the same way. There is an infinite, iridescent energy dancing in the seeing, the hearing, and the thinking. And here is the secret that the separate self hates to hear: there is no one who sees. There is no one who hears. There is only seeing. There is only hearing. These are experiences appearing spontaneously, impersonally, without effort, and without anyone performing them. We often talk about the **mantra: sounds into silence**, but we must be careful not to turn this into another spiritual chore. People think meditation is a battle against noise, like fighting for peace—a contradiction that only leads to stress. If you try to force the mind to stop, you are just adding more noise. Instead, we might notice a small seed of quiet that is already there. Not a peace you created, but a peace that is the very fabric of the body-mind. When we sit, we don't have to do anything. The breath is given to us; it breathes us. We are simply the space of aware presence in which the inhalation and exhalation happen. In that pause after the breath leaves the body, there is a vital silence. We are already one with it. Why are we so afraid of this? Why do we use the violent expression "killing time"? We fill our lives with activities because we are terrified of what happens if we stop. We fear that if we fall into the silence, we will meet anxiety, boredom, or isolation. But these are just waves on the surface of an abyss. If we stop gesticulating, if we stop speaking in every tongue for just one moment, we might find ourselves in a sudden strangeness. It is the innocence of the present. This innocence isn't a practice; it’s the capacity to see the world with the fresh eyes of a child, where every experience is the first experience. The separate self wants to turn silence into a goal, a trophy to be won. It says, "Once I reach the state where the mountains are no longer mountains, then I will be enlightened." This is just the seeker playing games. Silence is not the goal; it is the background of the noise.