Beneath every word, beneath every thought, silence waits, untouched, unbroken, whole.
By Roshan Jayasinghe
This article is Part III of the three-part reflective series, The Pre-Recognition of Our Suffering. In Part I, I explored the dual currents of energy that shape the outer flow of life. In Part II, I turned inward to the weave of human conditions carried by thought across time. This final part goes deeper still — to what holds both current and thread: the silence beneath the story.
Silence is often mistaken for absence.
But true silence is not empty.
It is alive.
Like the sky that holds clouds.
Like the ocean beneath the waves.
Like the space between one breath and the next.
It is the ground in which all things move,
yet itself does not move.
We overlook it,
because thought fills the space with sound.
But when the story pauses, even briefly,
silence is there, untouched, unbroken, whole.
The Story of the Mind
The mind never tires of weaving.
It spins joy into memory,
fear into projection,
sorrow into endless commentary.
It convinces us that these stories
are the whole of who we are.
But what happens when the story quiets,
if only for a breath?
Like closing a book mid-sentence
and seeing the blank page beneath the words.
Like pausing a film
and realizing the screen has always been there.
In that moment,
silence is revealed,
not as something new,
but as something we had forgotten to notice.
Silence and the Human Conditions
Every condition arises in silence,
and every condition dissolves into it again.
Suffering may roar,
but silence does not break.
Joy may overflow,
but silence does not cling.
Love burns bright,
loss cuts deep,
yet silence receives both
without resistance, without judgment.
Even arrogance and kindness,
anger and forgiveness,
hope and despair,
all threads in the weave,
all movements in the current,
but none disturb the ground of silence.
Silence is not opposed to them.
It holds them.
It lets them be.
Meeting Silence Directly
The mind may ask: How do I find silence?
But silence is not found.
It is recognized.
It is here in the pause between thoughts.
Here in the stillness after an exhale.
Here in the quiet moments when we forget ourselves,
even for an instant.
I remember standing once at a motorcycle gathering,
surrounded by the thunder of engines,
the chatter of riders,
the raw vibration of machines filling the air.
The noise was overwhelming,
yet suddenly I noticed something beneath it all,
a vast, unmoving quiet.
Not outside the roar,
but within it.
Silence was not the absence of sound.
It was the ground in which sound itself appeared.
And in recognizing it,
a strange peace arose,
not because the noise had stopped,
but because I was no longer bound to it.
Even now, as you read these words, notice the space around them. Notice the pause between one sentence and the next. Notice the stillness beneath your own breath. That quiet is not far away. It has always been here.
The Gift of Silence
When silence is noticed,
something softens.
Suffering loses its edge.
Joy shines without fear.
Love flows without grasping.
We no longer need to hold onto moments,
because silence holds them all.
Like soil nourishing the roots of a tree.
Like sky giving space for every bird in flight.
Like the ocean,
never disturbed by the waves above.
Silence does not erase life’s conditions.
It allows them to move more freely,
without binding us.
Living from Silence
To live from silence is not to withdraw,
nor to deny emotion.
It is to recognize the ground beneath it all.
Work continues.
Relationships unfold.
We laugh, we cry, we argue, we forgive.
But something is different.
We know we are not only the weave,
nor only the current.
We are also the silence
in which both arise.
From here, life is lighter.
We move with more ease,
not because the world has changed,
but because we are no longer fully entangled.
Closing: An Open Door
And so this final reflection does not end,
but opens.
The currents of life move.
The weave of thought continues.
But beneath it all,
silence remains.
Perhaps the truest recognition
is not of silence as something outside us,
but of our own being as silence,
the ground that holds every story,
yet is never bound by any.
This is not a conclusion,
but an invitation.
To pause.
To notice.
To rest in what has always been here.
This is where the journey of these reflections has led:
the dual currents of life,
the human weave of thought,
and the silence that holds them both.
Three doors, one recognition.
And still, the invitation remains open,
to return, again and again,
to the awareness that never leaves.
The Invitation That Remains
This three-part series began with the currents of energy that move through all life.
It turned inward to the weave of conditions carried by thought across time.
And it came to rest in the silence beneath the story, the ground that holds it all.
Outer. Inner. Ground.
Three lenses, one life.
But this is not a conclusion.
There is no final answer,
only the ongoing invitation to notice.
To recognize duality without resistance.
To see conditions without becoming bound.
To rest in silence without trying to possess it.
If these reflections have stirred something in you,
perhaps it is not new knowledge,
but a remembrance of what has always been here,
a deeper awareness waiting patiently beneath every moment.
May this recognition meet you again and again,
in breath and in stillness,
in joy and in sorrow,
in the quiet presence of being alive.
Editor’s note:
This article concludes a three-part reflective series by Roshan Jayasinghe, The Pre-Recognition of Our Suffering, which explores energy, human conditions, and silence as pathways to awareness. Readers can revisit Part I, The Flow of Energy, and Part II, The Human Weave, for the full journey.
Author’s Note
These reflections are not written as answers, but as invitations. I wrote them as part of my own journey of awareness , a way of turning experience into mirrors others might also look into. My hope is that, in reading, you discovered even a single pause, a breath of recognition, that you can carry into your own life. May these words meet you wherever you are, and remind you of what has always been here.
About the Author
Roshan Jayasinghe writes about consciousness, nature, and the unfolding of human experience. His reflections invite readers to pause, question, and return to the quiet clarity within. He contributes regularly to Morning Telegraph.
