Tell the People

Finding our voices and our calling in times of crisis

Great Horned Owl as neighborhood sentinel

A couple of months ago, I went to a concert by Girl Named Tom, a sibling trio who won The Voice in 2022 for their ethereal and powerful harmonies. In addition to their voices, which are hauntingly beautiful individually and together, the trio are accomplished musicians, playing a range of instruments from flute to 12-string guitar, as well as poetic songwriters.

At the concert, Girl Named Tom sung some new songs they had written; one in particular, “Tell the People,” stuck with me as anthem of hope for our times. Here’s the closing chorus:

Tell the dreamer
you will be on your way.
And tell the lover
you’ll love again some day.
And tell the people
there will be peace again.
Tell the mirror
this is not the end.
Oh, tell the mirror
this is not the end.

(Girl Named Tom hasn’t released “Tell the People” yet, but you can hear it here on YouTube.)

I believe that with the world in crisis, it is imperative that we each contribute what we can to the good in the world, the ocean of light and love. That’s easy to say, but how do we know what we can contribute, what special thing we bring to this troubled world?

By listening to that small, still voice within each of us that is the voice of the voice of our best selves, the guidance of the sacred that we all can hear if we try.

This is not the voice of our wants or our ego, the one that tells us to eat the last handful of Oreos in the package or buy the expensive shoes just because they look great!

It’s the voice of spirit, the one we all-too-often forget to listen to, subsuming that voice of conscience or intuition or compassion in the busyness of our lives, the stuff we need and the quest for more.

It is the voice that surfaces when we allow ourselves to be silent and still, the voice that comes from deep within and is so true to who we are at our core that it often frightens us, and we shrink from what we hear, because we are afraid to listen.

We need not fear. The voice of the sacred is our own truth, our North Star, our compass to what is most authentic about our inner selves.

Finding a way to hear that inner voice of wisdom and compassion is different for each of us. Some of us mediate, some run or bike miles, some walk into the wilderness (real or metaphorical), some loose ourselves in music.

However we listen, we all have access to that voice of our truth, that knowledge of what we bring to this world.

As

Janisse Ray

writes in “A Question to Ask Yourself,” we can use our resources and our words for the good of this earth and ourselves:

I believe—I still believe—that we can use our language and our resources in the highest and best ways to repair the fabric of life, both human and wild.
—Janisse Ray

Whatever we do, the important thing is to listen within and follow our leadings to use our talents and skills to repair and restore this battered world and each other.

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Below is a dive into how sacred silence can give us back—or strengthen—our voice and our purpose.

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The albino desert cottontail rabbit in my neighborhood, silent, but their white coloring speaks loudly….

When Silence Speaks

I sit in silent worship in the manner of Quakers: communal silence in which each of us focuses in our own way on seeking that inner voice, the individual revelations that connect us to the seacred, to each other and the whole world.

I was first drawn to Quakers in high school, and found my spiritual home with them, even though I have lived much of my adult life in the rural West, far from organized Quaker meetings. I still practice worship in the manner of Quakers, whether or not I have a group to worship with.

I belong to the “unprogrammed” Quakerism, where meetings for worship follow no order other than the collective agreement to sit in silent worship in a cooperative way. We have no ministers, no order of service, no sermons or prayers or choirs. We simply gather and let our minds listen for the voice of the divine, the sacred, within. And when impelled by that inner voice, we stand and speak.

As I described the practice in my first memoir, Walking Nature Home, A Life’s Journey,

Quakers find their voices in silence. Friends’ silent worship stems from in the belief that the voice of the divine, the urgings of the spirit, can only be heard from attentive stillness. Out of the quiet comes sacred speech as individual Friends stand up and give voice to their insights. In Quaker jargon, those who speak in Meeting for Worship are “called to vocal ministry.”

Called, that is, by the voice of the spirit, that ineffable sacred force that impels life, and us all.

A Friend moved to ministry stands up, waits a moment for the silence to settle, and then speaks unhurriedly. The message may emerge as a poem, a song, a prayer, a passage from a religious or popular text, a meditation on theology or current affairs, a personal story. After speaking, silence enfolds the group again. In Quaker practice, silence speaks.

Perhaps paradoxically, the silence of Quaker Meeting, a silence rich with communal experience, gave me a voice. As I have practiced listening to the voice of my own inner goodness, my connection to the spirit that animates us all, I have gradually come to understand what I offer, my purpose in the world.

I am a “re-storyer.” In my writing, I offer stories that I hope will give us a new understanding of this world and the community of lives that weave this numinous planet works, and where we humans contribute to that community.

In my work with unloved houses, I work to return them to health and beauty, giving those buildings a new story and a continuing life.

In my work with degraded landscapes, I remove invasive weeds, those bullies of the plant world, and restore native plants to reweave living communities, renewing their vibrance and resilience.

This is not work I chose. It chose me. I am called to write, build, weed, and create new stores to help heal this animate planet and we who share it. It is hard and often solitary work—not that I’m whining (much!)—and it certainly hasn’t made me rich (or even close), but I can’t not do it. Sometimes I am too tired or dispirited and I ignore the inner voice that calls to me. But not for long.

Because this re-storying work gives me purpose, meaning, satisfaction and glimmers of hope.

Because it is my calling, what I can do to, as Janisse Ray writes, “to repair the fabric of the world, human and wild.”

Because it gives me courage and hope.

Because it is my way of telling the people that peace will come again, and this is not the end.

What is your calling?

Hit the comment button below and let us know!

Thank you for reading and supporting Practicing Terraphilia! May you find your voice and your calling in however you practice silence and honoring this living earth.

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