there is something oddly beautiful about silence. not the forced awkward kind that suffocates a conversation, or the eerie one that precedes a storm. i’m referring to the silence that brings clarity. done at one’s own will—a deliberate, intentional pause from the chaos of life.
at CIC, where I spent my formative years, we practiced what was called magna silencia. a daily ritual of silence, a moment set aside to simply exist in quietude. At first, it felt unnecessary, inane, or even performative (i was a kid). why sit in silence when there was always something to say, games to indulge in, some noise to fill the space? but over time, it became something I deeply valued, something I carried with me beyond those walls.
in those moments of enforced stillness, thoughts become clearer. the world, so often loud and relentless, seems to slow down. distractions fade, leaving behind only the hum of existence itself. magna silencia wasn’t just about the absence of noise; it was about the presence of something greater—focus, mindfulness, peace.
in a world that demands constant engagement, where notifications pull at our attention like greedy hands, the art of silence has become rare, even feared. we equate busyness with productivity, noise with significance. but what if the real power lies in the quiet? what if our best ideas, our most profound realizations, are waiting in the spaces between the noise?
magna silencia taught me that silence is not empty—it is full of possibility. it is a reset button, a sanctuary. it is where the mind sharpens, where true introspection begins. and in the midst of a world that never stops talking, perhaps the most radical thing we can do is to embrace the silence.
pause, breathe, listen to the stillness. you might be surprised at what it has to say.