We often hear stories from our practice community about how silence can initially come quite easily—and then, suddenly, it doesn’t. It’s not unusual to hear something like: “For the first few months, things were peaceful. I’d sit in stillness and feel calm. But now, my thoughts are racing and my body won’t settle. What do I do when stillness becomes quite the opposite?”
This is such an honest and important question. And it’s a stage many of us encounter. After weeks or months of stillness—of gently consenting to presence—something beneath the surface often begins to stir. Restlessness, tears, old anger or sadness, physical tension, sudden anxiety. It can feel like things are getting worse, not better.
But this is not a sign of failure. In fact, it may be a sign that something is opening.
In the Christian wisdom tradition, this process has often been known as the purification of the heart. Through silence, some of our internal defences begin to soften, and what is hidden—old wounds, deep fears—may start to rise to the surface. There’s no need to give it a story or try to interpret it. The invitation is simply to notice.
One of the treasures of this practice is how it helps us recognise the deep connection between mind and body. When restlessness shows up physically or emotionally, we can include it in our awareness without judgment. As we stay gently present, even difficult sensations become something we can “let go of” in the same way we release distracting thoughts. Not by pushing them away, but by gently allowing them to arise and pass.
Thomas Keating once wrote:
“One way to deal with intense restlessness, physical pain, or emotions such as fear or anxiety that arise at such times of unloading is to rest in the painful feeling for a minute or two and allow the pain itself to be your prayer word. In other words, one of the best ways of letting go of an emotion is simply to feel it. Painful emotions, even some physical pains, tend to disintegrate when fully accepted.”
This can be challenging. But if we stay with it—abiding gently, curiously, compassionately—we discover a different relationship with pain and with being human. Nothing in us needs to be pushed away or hidden from God. Our discomfort becomes a doorway into grace. We begin to trust, perhaps for the first time, that we are held even in the places we most want to escape.
This work builds strength. It deepens our capacity to let go—again and again—not just in silence but in everyday life. And over time, we may notice more interior spaciousness, more freedom. The energy we once used to suppress or control our inner world becomes available for living with greater presence, compassion, and joy.
Thích Nhất Hạnh reminds us: “Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor.”
And Julian of Norwich, after her own experience of deep suffering and divine presence, said: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
This is why silence matters. It’s not always easy. But even in the hard seasons, the fruits are real—both within and beyond us. As we stay faithful to the practice, something quiet but powerful is being cultivated: the Spirit at work in the depths, bringing peace, healing, and transformation.
Our offering is intended to support spiritual practice. If you have any mental, emotional, or physical health conditions, as per our terms and conditions, please consult your medical professional before beginning a meditation practice, and always follow their advice.