The Silence That Speaks When the Ego Won’t Hush and the Creator Won’t Shout

The Silence That Speaks

When the Ego Won’t Hush and the Creator Won’t Shout

By Kateb Shunnar

Ever tried to just sit still? I mean really sit your behind glued to a porch bench, hands empty, phone tucked somewhere it can’t holler at you and your mind decides that’s the perfect moment to throw a Mardi Gras parade in your skull? Lord, it don’t matter how quiet the world gets. You could be out in the bayou, cicadas humming a sweet jazz tune, catfish leaping like they own the river, even frogs trying to start a choir—and the second you pause, your brain cranks into overdrive. “Remember that thing you said in third grade? Oh, and let’s replay middle school too, ‘cause why waste perfectly good humiliation?”

That ain’t just thoughts. Nah, that’s ego. Strutting around like it just won Best in Show, puffed up, thinking it runs the universe. Ego hates stillness like some folks hate hearing the word “diet” at a gumbo festival. Silence makes it twitch like a cat in a room full of cucumbers. And it never stops. Not for a second. Doesn’t care if you’re tired, sick, hiding under a blanket. Ego will lecture, gossip, panic, and throw imaginary tantrums all at once. It’s got stamina, I tell you.

An elder once said, “Child, the heart don’t speak. It listens. It’s either ego or the Creator talking but never the heart.” That hit me harder than mama’s cast-iron skillet when I forgot Sunday dinner. Every time your chest tightens, your stomach flips, your mind races, that ain’t the Creator. That’s ego doing open mic night at the wrong club. The Creator whispers. Sometimes He don’t even bother with words. Just sits back, maybe fanning Himself with a palm leaf, thinking, “I’ll wait ‘til you hush, sugar. I’ve got all night.”

Take Étienne, the fiddler from Tremé. Lord, that boy could not keep it down to save his soul. Porch, street corner, market, even the outhouse he played everywhere. Mama used to beg, “Boy, can’t you hush for one meal? Let a woman eat her gumbo in peace!” Étienne? Silence was evil. Music was medicine. Music was gospel. Music was life itself. Sometimes I swear he hummed in his sleep. I woke once thinking there was a jazz funeral in my bedroom.

And like Étienne, we all fiddle with our thoughts gossiping, replaying old arguments, imagining a thousand “what ifs,” scrolling social media like it’s sacred scripture. Anything to avoid stillness. Silence is uncomfortable. It’s like staring at yourself in a mirror, realizing all the masks, excuses, and baggage you’ve been hauling around. And baby, we don’t really want to see that.

One steamy night, Étienne had the porch to himself. A heron landed, tilted its head, and seemed to say, “Boy, you play too loud to hear your own heartbeat. Silence? That’s the music that carries all songs.” Étienne laughed so hard he nearly fell off the porch. “Silence? Ain’t nobody tipping me for playing nothing!” And, of course, he played louder.

Next morning poof! Strings gone. Vanished. He tore the house apart, accused the neighbor kids, even checked under mama’s gumbo pot. Nothing. For the first time, he had no sound. Just stillness. He did not like it. His mind went wild: What if I never play again? What if the chickens gossip about me? What if the neighbor sees me just sitting here like a fool? His ego pitched a fit, screaming, stomping, throwing imaginary tantrums. That’s us every time we try to sit still. Pause for one second, and the mind goes, “PANIC! WHAT’S MISSING? WHAT’S WRONG?”

But days went by. No strings. Just stillness. Slowly, something miraculous happened. Étienne began to notice things he hadn’t before: cicadas humming in harmony, moss swaying like tiny hands in prayer, even his own breath keeping rhythm like a soft drum. He realized he hadn’t been making music. He had been drowning it out. Drowning the Creator’s song the one stitched into every leaf, every breeze, every heartbeat.

Silence wasn’t absence. Silence was a tuning fork for the soul. Once he tuned in, he didn’t need strings anymore. He was finally listening. And I swear, he grinned like a child discovering hidden pralines in the kitchen.

And that’s us, ain’t it? Constantly fiddling with thoughts, gossiping, replaying old fights, scrolling like our thumbs are the only thing keeping the universe in order. We fill our lives with noise so we don’t have to feel the hush. But silence? That’s where the Creator waits. That’s where mercy blooms. That’s where the real music lives.

Silence isn’t emptiness. It’s a porch swing for the soul. At first, it’s awkward. You fidget, glance at your phone, think you’re wasting time. Then you notice the breeze, the neighbor kids laughing, even your chest loosening like a jar someone finally popped open. That’s when the Creator slips in, quiet as a cat, filling the space with something you can’t describe.

Don’t expect your ego to cheer. Oh no. It will stir nonsense, whisper doubt, make you feel guilty for doing nothing. Ego’s that one auntie at the family reunion who critiques everything you wear, cook, and say. But honey, that ego isn’t you. It’s a loud squatter. Silence is the eviction notice.

Once the noise leaves, your heart finally hears. And it isn’t words or formulas. It’s Presence. Pure, sweet Presence. Once you taste that, the chatter won’t satisfy you again.

Put down your fiddle. Hush your mind. Sit on the porch of silence. Watch the clouds, the way sunlight drapes over Spanish moss. Feel the breeze brushing your cheek. Hear the world breathing. The Creator has been whispering all along. You just need to stop talking long enough to notice. Don’t be surprised if the cicadas start looking at you like, “Finally!”

It’s hard, I know. I’ve spent nights pacing like a cat on hot tiles, thinking my thoughts were urgent, my worries real. But your mind will always try to outtalk the Creator. Always. Gossip, past regrets, anxiety, “shoulds” it will never quit. And yet, if you can sit, hush, and let yourself simply be…you’ll start hearing the music of life that’s been playing all along.

Silence is the porch. The swing. The space between your heartbeat and your next thought. When you find it, when you rest there long enough to hear, the world shifts. Time slows. Faces soften. Even the smallest things the rustle of leaves, a child’s laughter speak. You realize: you don’t have to fix anything, explain yourself, or control the music.

The Creator has been waiting for you in that quiet all along. Once you sit with it, you can’t unhear it. Can’t unsee it. That hush will shape how you walk through life, how you care, how you listen.

Here’s the deeper truth: when your mind finally goes quiet, even your desires start to calm down. You don’t have to chase everything, force what doesn’t come naturally. You just notice, just witness. In that stillness, your soul meets the Creator in a way that words cannot capture. You feel whole yet open. You feel enough, yet ready. That, my friend, is the heart’s true awakening.

Make A Donation