Whisper #13When Awe Becomes Noise

Some moments feel alive in a way that’s hard to explain.

You know them.

The first days in a new country.
The air unfamiliar.
Your senses wide open.
Colors brighter.
Sounds sharper.

You walk slower without trying.
You notice faces.
Smells.
Small details you usually miss.

It feels like presence.

And at some point, without saying it out loud, a quiet conclusion forms:

This is it.
This is what I was missing.

I know that feeling well.

For a long time, I thought travel itself was what made me present.
That routines killed awareness.
That repetition dulled life.

But that belief slowly revealed its crack.

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The mistake we make

What we often call presence isn’t something travel gives us.

Travel simply removes the noise long enough for us to notice what was already there.

New places strip away habits.
They interrupt autopilot.
They demand attention.

But the danger comes when we start chasing that state.

Another country.
Another retreat.
Another training.

Trying to recreate the feeling instead of understanding it.

That’s how "presence" quietly turns into addiction.

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The crash after the high

If you’ve ever returned home after a retreat, a training, or a long journey, you know this part.

The practices were deep.
The days were full.
The body felt alive.

Then you come back.

Same room.
Same street.
Same mornings.

And suddenly there’s a void.

So you try to replicate what once was.

You force the routine.
You recreate the schedule.
You chase the same intensity.

And when it doesn’t land, disappointment creeps in.

Not because something is wrong, but because you’re trying to repeat a moment that already passed.

Presence doesn’t work that way.

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The frustration paradox

Here’s something most people miss:

The moment you realize you’ve lost presence is the exact moment you’ve found it again.

Awareness of distraction is awareness.

But instead of relaxing into that return, we judge ourselves.

Why can’t I stay present?
Why did I lose it again?

So we reach for more stimulation.

More movement.
More knowledge.
More experience.

As if presence were something fragile we have to hold onto.

It isn’t.

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What presence actually is

Presence isn’t intensity.
It isn’t novelty.
It isn’t awe.

It’s contact.

And contact doesn’t disappear — it only gets ignored.

You don’t lose presence.
You stop listening.

Just like with breath:
you don’t forget how to breathe — you forget to notice it.

That’s why silence can feel uncomfortable.
That’s why stillness exposes what movement hides.

And that’s why chasing presence through constant change never satisfies for long.

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A quiet reminder

An old teaching says:

When you stop naming things, you start seeing.

Presence isn’t about adding more life.
It’s about subtracting the commentary.

The moment doesn’t need to be special.
It doesn’t need to be meaningful.
It doesn’t need to go anywhere.

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The threshold

And this is the part I want to leave you with:

The present moment doesn’t have to take you towards tomorrow.
And it doesn’t have to feel like yesterday.

It only asks to be met.

Not chased.
Not repeated.
Not improved.

Just met.

With Love & Stillness,
Saf