Quiet My Soul
By: Lark Morrigan
Tags: Future, Mental Health, Spirituality, Self

I seek reprieve in the quietude, solace in the far-off distance, and a sanctuary within this restless soul that still keeps longing for rest — yet it always wars against itself.

I cannot tame the beast within — this maddening desire for power to make up for the years of utter powerlessness, helplessness, and debilitating doubt that holds my mind hostage, leaving me in a perpetual drought that yields cyclical agony within every cell of mine. I am lost in a desert, unable to reconcile my desires of glory and the reality of inevitable failure.

No wonder I am so dissatisfied with the bleak outcomes of the future, unable to quell every want for more. More creative energy for myself. More action than hesitation. More in alignment with my truest self, even when I do not entirely know who that is or if I will ever meet her at her best.

Perhaps not. I am skeptical. The world has run me down, but it is not its fault, in fact, much of my distress is on me — anything that happens is a result of just the way things are and I’ve come to accept it, not with bitterness but with an acknowledgement that it is what it is and there is not much I can do beyond doing my best.

But most days, my best isn’t enough. My life isn’t extraordinary and never will be. I can live with that. I can even find joy in that.

However, I cannot deny the power that fears have over me. I cannot deny that I feel unfulfilled and the longing will never die for as long as I remain alive, paralyzed with the fear that I will not amount to greatness.

“What does it matter?” I have to ask myself in times like these. I will rot. I will eat, drink, work, play, and eventually die like everyone else and it is only a fool’s charade to play a role as someone more important than I actually am. The world’s stage, but I should not feel obliged to partake in it, especially when my inner spirit has to suffer for it.

So I must quiet my soul and allow the beauty and awe to render me speechless instead of caving into chaos, dissatisfaction, and restlessness.

I am more than what I do when I am in a race against time. I am more than what I achieve when I am anxious to prove my worth for an existence that won’t even be remembered. I am more than what I use to beat myself up with when I am trying to fill a sense of emptiness inside (which will all be for naught in the end).

I have to stop wondering who I could’ve been in another life. I have to stop wondering who I could’ve been if only I tried harder to be what certain critics have expected me to be.

I have to put a stop to this inner madness rooted from the lack I’ve felt throughout past decades of loneliness, insignificance, and unworthiness.

I know how it would end if I kept myself stuck in a vicious cycle with all the noise pushing me anywhere and everywhere but where I ought to be — right here in this quiet space where I belong, where I need to catch my breath, where I need to stop sabotaging the very existence that I was born to create, refine, and sculpt into a beautiful work of art that may be simple but would be truly mine, untouched by external cacophony and only influenced by the quietude of kindred spirits before my time.

But to do that I must dig deeper. I must strike a balance between the inward and the outward, but never neglect my inner spirit.

Most of all, I must quiet my soul and truly listen to its quiet masterpiece, echoing the truths I have yet to internalize from the beginning to the end, from humility to hard-won glory, from the first note of my soul’s silent symphony to the very last.

In this, will I find what I am looking when it’s no longer muddled by noise. In this, I will finally hear the quiet. And the sound will be far more glorious than anything I can fathom but only if I am still enough to listen.