The Voice Between the Lines- Day 1

A 7-day return to your Sacred Story

Day 1: The Silence

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Welcome to The Voice Between the Lines — a quiet, 7-day return to the parts of your story that never stopped speaking.

Each day offers one whisper, one prompt, and one gentle invitation to listen beneath the noise.

There’s no pressure to share.
But if the words rise… trust them.

I’m sharing this series across a few spaces —
but this is where I’m answering the prompts for real.
Right here. In real time (well… sorta.)
Only on Substack.

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✍️ Today’s Prompt:

What silence have you been avoiding?
What might it be trying to say?

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I spent ten years working as a professional nightclub DJ.

From the age of 22 to 32, I stood in front of some of the most insanely loud sound systems you can imagine — four or more nights a week, for hours at a time. And I loved it.

I always figured I’d lose some hearing eventually, but now that I’m in my fifties, I’m living with the cost. The hearing loss I have is so specific, so oddly focused, that hearing aids don’t really help. They amplify the confusion more than the clarity.

It’s frustrating for me — but even more so for my family. And I feel for them.

You see, I’m not your average hearing loss case. In order to understand things, I have to turn the volume down. I know — it’s counterintuitive. But when things are too loud, they bleed together. The kids talking, the TV, phones, dishes clinking — they all compete. And the louder they get, the less clear they become.

So I’ve learned to find peace in the quiet.

Right now, as I sit and write, it’s silent. I hear the tap of my fingers on the keyboard. The faint sound of our fountain outside. And then… this ever-present pitch.

It’s not a sound exactly. It’s more like something I experience.
A frequency just beyond the reach of my ears.
And strangely enough — it changes when someone enters the room.

It’s like I’m tuned into the resonance of solitude.

I’ve always considered myself an extrovert. But this silence? That subtle pitch? It brings comfort. It brings clarity. In the quiet, my mind works better. My dreams come easier. The ideas don’t trickle — they roar.

So what is my silence telling me?

Right now, it’s saying that I’m alone.
Literally, sure — but also something deeper.

It’s telling me that I’m alone in the process.

And that’s both comforting and confronting.

Because as much as I’ve always identified with connection and external energy, I’m realizing that the silence is not just an absence — it’s a presence of its own.

It’s here, now, inviting me into something.
Into clarity. Into mystery. Into God.

As I try to figure out what’s next — as I try to hear the divine reminder of who I am — the pitch remains.
Not quite sound. Not quite imagination.
A yearning.

A yearning for the elevated pitch —
the one that occurs
when another soul enters the room.

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Thanks for being here. If you’re following along, feel free to journal, reflect, or simply notice what this stirred up in you.

And if you’re just now seeing this — you’re not behind.
The invitation stands.
Start wherever the whisper finds you.

I’ll be back tomorrow with Day 2.

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This post is part of The Voice Between the Lines —
a 7-day return to your Sacred Story.

You can start at Day 1 or jump in wherever the whisper finds you.

🌀 Following along?
Subscribe to stay with the journey — and feel free to share your own reflections in the comments.

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