The assignment was simple.
Find thirty minutes somewhere in the world where you cannot hear any man-made sound.
I thought it would be easy.
I was wrong.
When you stop moving and actually listen, the world hums with us.
Trains from miles away.
A plane you cannot see.
Factory rhythm somewhere across water.
A horn in the distance.
Machines you cannot name.
We travel farther than we know.
I drove north.
I tried fields.
I tried tree lines.
Then I found the pier.
The storm came in while I was standing there.
Rain first.
Then wind.
Then thunder moving through like something that had been patient a long time.
And underneath it—
silence.
Not the absence of sound.
The presence of something older and larger than our noise.
Thirty minutes.
Soaking.
Assignment complete.
There is a church steeple in the photograph.
I did not notice it until much later.
Forming 2.0 
I’d like to try this but not while I’m in the city. I’m noting this down and hopefully remember to revisit this note. I want to hear the silence and wish for a solitary life in the next few years.
As always, thankyou for sharing Dean.
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Hi Iba. Thank you for your consistent support and encouragement. You are right, the city makes this assignment nearly impossible — you almost have to escape it to even remember what you’re listening for. I hope you find your way to a pier someday, or a field, or wherever the quiet is waiting for you. Some things are, indeed, worth the drive.
-Dean
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Dean, this stayed with me for a while after reading.
I love the distinction you make – that silence is not the absence of sound, but the presence of something older and larger than our noise. It reminded me of how N.T. Wright speaks about the “ache” of silence – this tension of living between the now and the not yet, where God can sometimes feel quiet amid the discord and loneliness of the world. Yet even that silence is not empty; it becomes a kind of stewardship, a posture that prepares us for His voice rather than merely demanding answers.
The image of standing there in the storm, soaked and listening, feels almost like surrender – not escaping the noise, but recognizing that the noise is not the deepest reality. And somehow the unnoticed church steeple ( I tried my eyes to see but could not I need some holy conviction) appearing later feels fitting too, as though grace often enters the frame quietly, waiting for us to notice it after the storm has passed.
There’s comfort in remembering that even silence sits under God’s sovereignty. Sometimes the soul does not need explanation only enough stillness to remember it is held.
A great read – feels so good – Thank you …..
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Ulrich,
Thank you. Reading your responses feels less like receiving feedback and more like having company on the road.
You are a bit like that steeple. Present. Unannounced. There when I finally look.
Your response to Through the Glass — the way you wrote less like a commenter and more like someone who had walked that road too — that is what set me to gathering a small collection of personal writings. I’m calling it Living from the Inside Out in an Upside Down World. It’s more than WordPress can hold. It needs a reader before it needs an audience. Good work finds its way quietly, I think — hand to hand, not broadcast.
I think you might be that reader.
Feel free to email me at graf.mr@gmail.com, or if you’re comfortable sharing yours, I’ll reach out directly.
Grateful for you, Ulrich.
— Dean
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Dean,
Thank you for your kind words. I’m truly touched.
My apologies for the late reply. Work has been especially busy lately, and I haven’t had as much time to read and reflect as I would have liked.
I would be honored to read Living from the Inside Out in an Upside Down World.
My email is: ulrich.viegas@gmail.com
Looking forward to continuing the conversation.
Grateful for your friendship and encouragement.
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