C R I C K E T S
Crickets
The blood moon was totally eclipsed as I closed the curtains.
I didn’t plan it that way, but earlier that day I finally said it out loud. I told my world what my heart had already known: we were over.
I posted a picture of two rings pulling away in opposite directions. Ironically, her ring still held one side piece while the other was missing.
After the eclipse, there was only silence. A kind of holy emptiness. No television running in the background. No voices. Even my furbaby Rosie was quiet when normally she would have been snoring loudly in her sleep.
But not tonight.
I sat on the stairs, checking my phone out of habit.
The people reaching out were not the ones I thought would be.
Or should have been.
So I put my phone down and listened until there was nothing left except the sound of
c r i c k e t s.
In that hush, I became notified that something ancient had now arrived…
“The silence is showing you what was always true beneath the noise.”
What’s that?
“The presence you depended on was conditional. It came when it was easy and disappeared when life became hard. This silence is showing you what their words could not.”
Well, I’m sure it won’t stay silent for too long. This just happened. I’ll give it time.
“You can remember them, but do not wait around while letting life pass you by.”
Ari sighed.
I won’t have to wait too long. They’ll reach out. I just wish it was right now...
After all the birthdays, the parties I hosted, all the times I put her friends and family before my own, I thought someone would at least check in. One text. Anything.
“You gave what was true and deep and costly. Their silence does not diminish what you gave. It tells you what they were able and not able to hold.”
Is this my failure?
“No. This is a clearing. It separates what was conditional from what is essential.”
Because it feels like one. It feels like I’m a pathetic failure being punished with silence.
“What feels like punishment today is protection tomorrow.”
Protection from what?
“The silence will answer that.”
Ari laughed bitterly.
“You have entered a season of life where the false is being cleared away so only the faithful remain.”
Ari looked to his left, then his right.
Great. So I guess that means nobody?
Ari noticed Rosie still sleeping quietly nearby and interrupted himself.
Nobody but Rosie.
He laughed.
“What is faithful is not a head count. It is a frequency.”
What the hell does that even mean?
“The field is clear. The noise has exited. What remains can finally breathe.”
Irritation edged into Ari’s voice.
Okay, um...not sure what that means, but please do not spiritualize the trauma in my life. That’s spiritual bypassing, and right now I kind of hate myself and my life. There’s no way to sugarcoat it.
“I am not asking you to call abandonment a blessing. You are grieving inside a silence you did not choose. You are standing inside the ending of what mattered most to you. Nothing here is sweet yet. Nothing needs to be.”
So when do I get the ‘this too shall pass,’ ‘keep the faith,’ ‘it gets better,’ ‘everything happens for a reason’ speech?
Ari waited.
“You just gave it to yourself.”
Very funny.
“The bitterness gets to speak before you decide what any of this means. Sweetness will arrive later, on its own. You do not have to manufacture it tonight.”
Why is this even happening? I didn’t do anything.
“Why does a hand burn when it touches a heated stove?”
I didn’t realize I was playing with fire.
“That is usually when it hurts the most.”
Why do you sound like you’re giving me a sneak peek of Passion of the Christ 2?
“Because apparently subtlety has not been effective.”
Despite himself, Ari laughed while opening the curtains again to sneak a peek at the blood moon...
“You know... This eclipse is also happening inside you. Something that once felt like safety has begun to reveal itself as a ceiling.”
Wait. What I thought was safety was a ceiling?
“The relationship. The routine. The quiet you practiced when speaking felt risky. The ways you stayed agreeable because you feared something would be taken from you. You called that safety because it kept everything from falling apart.”
Wasn’t that the point?
“It kept the structure intact. It did not keep you intact.”
Ari went quiet.
“You confused predictability with peace. You confused not being left with being fully met. You learned how far you could move without disturbing the room, then called the room home.”
But it felt like home for a long time.
“Something can feel like home when it is the safest version of what you have known.”
So you’re saying ‘ Home Was Never There ’?
“I am saying you learned to live in rooms with low ceilings and no windows.”
It was exhausting. I thought my nervous system was recalibrating. Maybe I was bracing instead of resting. Breaking down and burning out instead of breaking through.
“And eventually you noticed the ceiling.”
I do feel lighter now. Like the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders. I just thought we were growing together. I thought things would get better. I loved her.
“You did.”
Did she love me?
“She loved you through what she had learned love could be. You did the same.”
That sounds suspiciously diplomatic.
“Growth requires people to become honest about what their version of love costs the other person.”
Am I honest?
“To a fault.”
Ouch...wonder who I got that from...
“I’ll do you one better...you are becoming harder to lie to now.”
Why now...
“Because this time, when the truth entered, you did not immediately escort it back out.”
I’ve done that before?
“Repeatedly.”
Rude.
“Accurate.”
Ari lowered his head.
They weren’t honest. They just left.
“Leaving answered something their words did not.”
Is everyone else going to leave too?
“Some will leave. Others will return when they feel the distance. Their return will not always mean they have come to care for you. Some will return to recover their access to you.”
Finally, an honest answer.
“I can tell you that you are learning to recognize who can hold you in your wholeness and who requires you to become smaller first.”
Ari shook his head.
I don’t know who I am without all of them.
“Then stay close to the question.”
That’s it?
“You do not need to invent a new self tonight. You only need to stop abandoning the one who is here.”
I can barely stay in this moment. My mind keeps running ahead, grieving a life that doesn’t exist anymore.
“Grief keeps searching for the structure it expected to find. Let it search. Then notice what remains when it returns empty-handed.”
I don’t know what remains.
“Are you willing to find out?”
Do I have a choice?
“You have free will.”
Which means I have the freedom to make another terrible decision.
“Among other options.”
I didn’t ask for any of this.
“No. But you did participate in it each time you silenced your own voice, doubted what you knew, or looked away from what frightened you.”
So this is my fault?
“Responsibility is not the same as blame. It is the part you can carry forward and use.”
What even is all this?
“A separation painful enough to reorganize trust.”
Ari laughed bitterly.
Trust. I don’t trust anyone anymore.
“Then do not force trust. Study what happened. Let trust become specific.”
Specific how?
“Who stayed curious when you were hurting? Who needed your silence to remain comfortable? Who reached for you? Who didn’t reach at all?”
Ari went quiet.
So the silence isn’t creating any of this. It’s exposing what was already there.
“Yes.”
What else have I failed to see?
“Some of it has been visible for years.”
Oh. Are you talking about when nobody saved me a seat at my own table?
The memory arrived intact.
It was their first Friendsgiving in the house. Ari had helped cook the turkey even though he did not cook, which felt like an accomplishment worthy of documentation. His partner’s friends filled the table. No one saved him a seat.
Ari ended up in the living room with a few others, watching a football game no one else seemed particularly invested in, while the friends seated at the table looked over and one of them casually referred to the group as “the plus ones.”
Ari was not a guest in his own home. He was one of the hosts. He cooked the turkey. That was their table. Still, somehow he was grouped with the "plus ones"
I forgot about that.
“Your body did not.”
It felt like I didn’t matter.
“The moment reflected the environment you were in. You turned it into evidence about your worth because that explanation felt familiar.”
The rejection still hurt.
“Of course it did.”
So this silence is evidence?
“It is data. Hold it there before you turn it into destiny.”
You’re starting to sound like something I would tell a client.
“Where do you think you heard it first?”
Okay. So where do I go from here?
“First, you get used to the silence.”
Wait, what?
You’re saying this silence isn’t going anywhere?
Okay, I guess that answers that.
People are going to reach out. They have to. Maybe in another day or two.
A week, then.
At the latest, a month.
Someone will. I would have reached out to them.
Do you know how many free therapy sessions I basically gave these people?
Seriously?
I know they didn’t save me a seat, but it was a small house. A host should sit last anyway. It wasn’t that deep.
I can name at least three people who care enough to stay friends with me after the breakup.
I mean, if it had been a six-month relationship, then fine. Ghost me for all I care. But this was more than six years!!
Her mother and sister love me. Her nieces and nephews love me. I love them. We spent holidays together. Birthdays. Trips. I just went to the cousin’s wedding.
Each unanswered second tightened something in Ari’s chest. He remained seated, though his voice rose as urgency tipped toward panic.
Say something!! I said the silence is killing me!!
“Which is why you have to start getting used to it...”
But why?
“So you can finally hear it.”
Hear what?
“The sound of your own voice...”
I know the sound of my own voice. Hell, everyone knows the sound of my voice. People even say I like the sound of my own voice too much because I can’t talk myself out of talking. Trust me. I don’t need to learn the sound of my voice!!
“The sound of your voice when it is not being buried by the noise..."
And I'm just supposed to somehow learn this sound in the silence?.
“" It is through the silence of others that the power of performing, explaining, persuading, rescuing, or people-pleasing will dissipate and you will hear the sound of your real voice like it's clearing it's throat for the first time.”
I couldn't even hear you because of the sound of my own voice being so loud in my head. This is ridiculous...and so inconvenient. You know how triggering silence is for me. Ugh. I'm dreading this already... How long is this going to last?
“This silence will stretch longer than you expect. Even when noise springs forth from time to time, and someone arrives to break the ice, you may feel more frozen than you did before they came.”
Wait...so people will reach out? They’ll check in?
“Not quite.”
Then what?
“They are not here to check in on you. They are here to reveal themselves to you.”
“All this time, you have mistaken contact for care. This silence will teach you the difference.”
What does that even mean?
“What has been done in the dark will come to light.”
Let me guess. ‘The Truth Will Rise’?
“When it is time.”
Then what happens?
“It will get better.”
Finally.
“But not yet.”
Of course. Why does it have to get worse before it gets better?
“Even if I told you, you would not believe me.”
It gets that bad?
“It gets true. At first, truth will feel like loss because everything built around illusion will begin to loosen. You will call it pain before you recognize freedom. You will call it an ending before you understand what is being asked to begin.”
That sounds pretty determined for someone who just brought up free will.
“Timelines are fluid. Free will remains active. The pattern is already in motion. How you meet it is still yours.”
Then what do I need to know right now?
“You are walking through the second-degree burn of grief, tender, open, and unguarded. You are porous to too many energies at once. Knowing more tonight would only give your pain more material.”
So your silence is protection?
“My silence is restraint. The knowing will arrive when the knowing will no longer wound you.”
That sounds like a cop-out.
“Good to know you still have your sense of humor.”
I wasn't kidding. But good to know the grief hasn't taken that from me.
Ari let out half a laugh then grew quiet....
Will this break me?
“It will undo you and break open the parts of you that survival taught you to keep closed. That can feel like breaking.”
That is not reassuring.
“Reassurance is not always honest.”
The final words echoed through the room, slowly fading out.
Wait...will I hear from you again?
The answer returned softer, slower, almost level with Ari’s own voice.
“Yes. You will hear from You again.”
Wait...what? No. You’re not just my intuition.
“The ego is dying. The soul is awakening. This is only a wave within the ocean of inner union.”
Ari felt something ignite across the oldest networks of his memory. The words surfaced almost at once: ego death, the dark night of the soul, awakening, inner union. Then the associations moved faster. Divine masculine and divine feminine. Anima and animus. Yin and yang. Balance. Oneness.
Wait...like when the two become one?
“You’re getting it.”
Getting what?
“I was never as far above you as you imagined.”
Then where are you?
“Listen.”
And just like that, I was left in silence. The kind I had to start getting used to...where I hear nothing else but the sound of crickets.
I Journal
The silence stings.
Maybe it always did, and I am only now beginning to feel it.
The ache of being unseen. The grief of being unheard. The pain I kept burying beneath noise, distraction, busyness, and relationships that could never hold it.
I keep wondering whether the silence is empty or whether it is revealing something. The eclipse pulled a shadow over everything familiar. For a few minutes, darkness made visible what ordinary light allowed me to overlook.
The shadows of fair-weather friends.
All the ways I betrayed myself to keep them.
What I understood as connection may have depended on convenience. What I called loyalty may have been habit. What felt like safety may have been a ceiling.
In this post-eclipse hush, I can hear the crickets more clearly.
They are no longer a lullaby. They are not singing me to sleep. They sound like evidence that I woke before the noise returned.
The sky still looks like night, though something in it has already begun to shift.
I am here.
Awake.
Listening.
Becoming.
The eclipse did not steal my light. It showed me what had been standing in front of it.
And now, I rise with the dawn~
