The Paradox of Power in Silence
It seems counterintuitive to associate power with silence. The squeaking wheel, after all, is the one that gets the grease. In the world of circumstance, there are moments when squeaking is necessary—when we must speak up, advocate, or act decisively. Yet the development of our spiritual awareness unfolds in an entirely different arena. Its work is done in stillness.
This “stillness” is not mere quiet. It is a shift of awareness—a turning from the restless surface of the mind toward the deeper current of life itself. The Psalmist’s invitation, “Be still, and know that I am God,” is not a command but an opening. It reminds us that knowing the Divine is not an act of intellect but of intuition. The Creative Life Force that sustains our being is ever present, but it works in silence, as a hidden, living fountain of energy.
The Restless Mind
Anyone who has ever tried to meditate knows how easily the mind resists stillness. We close our eyes intending to move into silence and find ourselves chasing thoughts, replaying conversations, or solving problems that do not need solving. Many of us have spent twenty minutes “worried with our eyes closed.”
This is the central challenge of entering the silence: learning to let go of thought patterns that have no real value. We are conditioned to stay on the mental treadmill, running hard but getting off exactly where we got on. What Jesus called “going into your inner room and shutting the door” is the act of stepping off that wheel—of releasing the outer noise to rediscover the quiet center that is always waiting.
When we touch that inner place, we emerge changed. We move into life with fresh enthusiasm and clearer vision. The external world has not altered, yet our relationship to it has. We respond from strength rather than react from fear.
Coming Home to the Center of Power
Silence is not escape from life; it is the re-entry point into our true home. In stillness we return to the center of our being, where all that is real abides. The “Father who sees in secret,” as Jesus said, rewards us openly—not with material prizes, but with the subtle grace of a life that begins to work.
Paradoxically, the time to be still often arrives when stillness seems impossible. We want to “do” something, to solve the upset that has thrown us off balance. Yet sitting quietly, releasing the urge to fix, is often the very thing that restores order. The silence re-centers us in the awareness that we are expressions of the Infinite—not isolated minds scrambling for control, but emanations of the same creative power that holds the stars in place.
The Modern Maze of Distraction
Technology has multiplied our distractions. We carry devices that promise connection but too often deepen our fragmentation. In earlier times, when the phone stayed in one place, we didn’t wonder where it was; now we feel uneasy if it’s not in reach. The more connected we become externally, the more disconnected we risk becoming internally.
This makes the commitment to silence more vital than ever. The silence is not opposed to life in the world; it is the grounding that makes life in the world manageable. It is where the noise of outer activity meets the still rhythm of the soul.
Experiencing, Not Thinking
The silence cannot be understood intellectually. It must be experienced. Reading inspirational books can be helpful, but reading about stillness is not the same as entering it. We may become addicted to uplifting words, returning to them like a pleasant habit, yet never touching the experience itself. The true invitation of “Be still and know” is to be still and know—to feel the reality of God, not merely to think about it.
This is not about solving problems. It is about solving the problem of the busy mind. When we drop beneath the whirl of thought, we encounter a different order of knowing—direct, wordless, whole.
Finding the Doorway of Receptivity
Emilie Cady likened the receptive attitude to a bird bathing in the sun. There is no effort, only openness. We do not make the light shine; we simply stop blocking it. Sitting quietly, we relax the body and center the mind. If thoughts drift, a simple affirmation such as “I am” can help restore focus.
Do not force anything. If the mind refuses to settle, get up and return later. The silence is never achieved through strain; it opens through willingness. The fruit of practice often comes in unexpected moments—a sudden wave of compassion, a surge of peace, a quiet joy that needs no reason. These are signs that the intuitive door is opening and the light of God is beginning to shine through.
The Inner Healing Flow
Myrtle Fillmore’s healing story beautifully illustrates the power of this inner awareness. When she heard the words, “You are a child of God; therefore, you cannot inherit sickness,” something awakened. She began to enter the silence daily, speaking gently to each part of her body, affirming that the life of God was active there. She wasn’t commanding healing—she was acknowledging a truth already in operation.
In the same way, when we quiet the mind and release stress, we cease interfering with the natural intelligence that sustains us. The body follows the mind’s lead: as thought becomes calm, the physical system relaxes, renews, and restores itself.
The Treasure Hidden in the Field
Jesus compared the kingdom of God to a treasure hidden in a field. The silence is that field. In discovering it, we “sell” everything we own—our stress-producing thoughts, our need to control, our limiting ideas—and trade them for the simple awareness of Presence. The intellect can grasp the logic of this; intuition alone can make it real.
This path does require discipline and commitment, not as burden but as devotion. We commit because we recognize the truth of what calls to us. If God is truly within, then the question becomes: How will I experience that?
The Direct Experience
Direct experience of the Divine is not reserved for saints or mystics. It is the birthright of every soul. Yet few seek it because they imagine it difficult or remote. In truth, it is closer than breath. We overlook it precisely because it is so near.
The spiritual life is not about becoming something we are not. It is about awakening to what we already are. As you sit in stillness, you may discover that the freedom you’ve been seeking was never absent—it was only veiled by thought.
To be still is to know. To know is to remember that the treasure you seek has always been within.
J Douglas Bottorff 