Silent Time

Song story & origins

Introduction

Silent Time first appeared on Refuge (2017); I later issued a slightly remastered version on Being Human: The Songs, alongside a free mindfulness journal with prompts designed to accompany the music. I wrote the piece during a retreat afternoon devoted to extended silence and solitude, an exercise I often facilitate for educators: long quiet, optional journaling, then reconvening to reflect. Out of that quiet came a song about the abundance inside silence—how stillness holds our dreaming, our creativity, and even the music itself.

Where the song came from

During the retreat, we set aside a full afternoon of quiet. That’s hard for many of us; we’re out of practice, and noise & distraction tend to define our days. I’m an introvert who often craves silence and has had many positive experiences come from it, so I spent that time leaning into stillness and letting my mind wander and connect. In my experience, creative work relies on that spaciousness: the way silence surrounds everything, the medium we swim in. It’s why dreaming can be so fertile—our brains get to run free, process the day’s images and sounds, and touch what I called the “great silence of the universe.” The lyric begins by naming that paradox: the “silent time” is filled with sun—not weather, but enlightenment/energy, the warmth of imagination when we quiet the clatter.

The middle section turns explicitly to music: notes only matter because of the rests that frame them; words depend on the spaces between; even singing is breath + the silence between breaths. The “people/places… elements and atoms…” verse places our cherished “things” inside that larger field: the focal points we mark as important are nested in something bigger, which is why they’re connected to one another—like a song made of tones and gaps, all tied together by the silence that holds them.

Journal theme and prompts (from Being Human: The Songs)

The journal page for Silent Time is titled Abundant Silence. After a brief note about composing the song during a silent retreat afternoon, it invites you to choose one question or one word/line from the lyric to guide meditation or journaling while you listen:

Does silence feel empty to me?

What positive experiences have I had with silence?

What less-positive experiences have I had with silence?

What is my relationship with silence or with solitude?

They’re invitations, not assignments—meant to help you settle, notice, and let the music work on you.

Music and arrangement

This track carries a jazz feel and began life on Refuge, the album I deliberately recorded on an iPad (later mixed down on a Mac). I sometimes use pre-made tracks for certain colors; here I used them for the female vocal textures (my own male harmonies are all me) and for the marimba part that nudges the piece into a gentle “party mode.” I also wrote and stacked the string parts near the end. Singing this one let me push into a different vocal approach—looser, more jazz-inflected—and it was a joy to inhabit.

What the song is saying

There’s an irony at the heart of it: a song is made of sound, yet this song points to the silence that makes the sound meaningful. In a larger sense, it’s also a small primer in mindfulness—bringing attention back to breath and heartbeat, each defined as much by the in-between as by the pulse. The refrain insists: silence is not empty; it’s abundant, a field where ideas and connections rise.

The moment around this reflection

When I told this song’s story, we were in a week of social distancing. I felt (and still feel) grateful for the musicians and others using the internet to encourage people in an anxious time, and deeply grateful for medical workers on the front line. My hope, then and now, is that we care for ourselves and each other—finding quiet, practicing attention, and doing what we must together to heal.

Why it stays with me

Because it’s a reminder to sink down—to still the noise, enter the silent time, and let that abundance ignite imagination and care. Every rest, every breath, every pause is part of the music. When I remember that, I can hear the song again.

Source: New Music Memoir (1).docx

From the Being Human journal

In retreats that I sometimes lead, we have an afternoon of “silence and solitude”. That’s really difficult for some folks because most of us are very out of practice. Noise and distraction define our hours, minutes and days. I often crave silence. As an introvert, I’ve had many positive experiences that came about because of silence. Silent Time was composed during one of those afternoons… exploring the rich silence that all of our doings swim in.

Source: Being Human: The Songs — Album & Journal (2020) · p. 23

Being Human · The Songs

Reflection & journaling

Theme: Abundant Silence

Choose a question or word or line(s) from the lyrics to guide your meditation or journaling as you listen.

1. Does silence feel empty to me?
2. What positive experiences have I had with silence?
3. What are some of the less positive experiences with silence that I’ve had?
4. What is my relationship with silence or solitude?

Source: Being Human: The Songs — Album & Journal (2020) · p. 23