September 20, 2025
Never miss a good chance to shut up. ~ Will Rogers
It seems like everyone has something to say about the murder of Charlie Kirk. I think anyone with half a heart has been deeply affected, even traumatized. Many right-leaning commentators have jumped on the bandwagon, littering the electronic airwaves with solemnly freighted prose. (Commentators on the “other side” also feel compelled to expound, sometimes with unforgivable venom.)
However, some were able to maintain a kind of sacred silence. SG Anon released a brief podcast about Charlie’s assassination, a number of days after the event. He said something like, in addition to not feeling like speaking out, silence seemed the most respectful and appropriate first reaction.
From a very different voice, a similar sentiment was echoed in a podcast I watched yesterday, Roseanne Barr interviewing Katie Hopkins. Katie Hopkins opined that some conservatives who started blaring opinion and speculation within hours were trawling for clicks. She also believes that some prominent figures on the Right envision themselves as deserving beneficiaries of the purported future-presidential-bid “war chest” of Charlie’s billionaire donors.
Her disapproval was clear, and she noted that the most honorable tribute we could offer was not click-seeking opinions or speculation, but profound, albeit temporary, silence.
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Sundays used to offer space for silence. Even in the span of my lifetime, less than seven decades, the “day of rest” has evolved from being tidied-into-Sunday-finery before heading to church where we’d commune with God in our imperfect ways, into a second fully-packed, ordinary weekend day. In the US, attendance at Sunday Christian worship services has declined from the mid-1950s, from an estimated 50% of Americans regularly attending services to around 20%.
I recall that stores and other venues used to be closed on Sundays. Saturday was for shopping, and Sunday was for quiet time, gathering with family and friends, and, yes, morning church services. It seems possible that, within living memory, a traditional Sabbath was observed in a significant percentage of American households.
When did that change? And why?
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The reasons given might sound logical, even inevitable: Families became fractured; in many households women as well as men were obliged to work, and the through-line of worship was lost.
As is usually the case when seeking the origins of dismantling decency and morality, though, I think we can largely lay the blame on the Deep State. Did women enter the workforce out of desire, or necessity? Who indoctrinated us with the need for things, and more things? It became normal to race from one distraction to another, seven days a week from sunup to sundown. And distractions cost money.
No wonder we’re disinclined to stop the pursuit of dubious satisfaction long enough for introspection. No wonder church became an inconvenience rather than a foundational grounding for our lives.
The most nourishing ways we could recharge—communing with nature, sharing hugs, closing our eyes and connecting to our deepest wisdom—are all free. Even Sunday worship is open to all, although I realize there’s always a tithing request.
But spiritual and contemplative activities don’t feed the Matrix’s consumption-structure, and therefore are mightily discouraged.
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Silence speaks to us. Perhaps not in words, or even in feelings. Perhaps it offers a foreshadowing of fifth-dimensional awareness, hinting at the way we shall be, and feel, and interact after the influences that have distorted us are removed.
And perhaps we can draw that inchoate fifth-dimensional aura into our own sphere through the simple act of quieting ourselves as best we can, as often as we can. We can receive a sense of calm and steadiness and absence of pursuing things, simply from resting a hand against a tree or strolling aimlessly by a creek.
We don’t need a house of worship, complete with sanctioned religious texts and a religious authority “guiding” us. They may point the way to God, but only in the sense that everything is God. I’ve come to believe that there is no God “out there,” but rather, God is working through me and as me, as God is present in everything in the universe of God.
We don’t need a guru, a teacher, or any special equipment. We just need willingness, and the ability to accept third-dimensional imperfection when we dance with the silence of our souls.
