unMute - An Introduction

by Theo Geyser

Introduction

Over the past 10 years, I've shared a remarkable journey with young people navigating urban life. This is the story of a community of faith called InVia, born in the heart of Cape Town.  I was fortunate to pursue a PhD at Nijmegen in the Netherlands, where I explored a captivating quest: how do young urban souls, adrift from traditional faith, navigate the rapids of our speed-obsessed world?

Their unlikely compass?

Silence.

This book delves into their astonishing quest, revealing how they navigate the pursuit of a meaningful life amidst the noise, ultimately learning to unMute the whispers of wisdom found in silence.

This book isn't about some groundbreaking revelation or eternal truth that will magically unlock your freedom. It's a raw exploration of faith, shaped by the stories of 17 extraordinary young people known as GenNet, who reshaped my world and one brilliant professor who kept my scattered thoughts focused. It delves into the raw, primal stories of young honest truth-tellers who don't subscribe to any particular belief system but are united by a shared experience.

This is a true story of young people who rebel against their bite-sized lives filled with disconnection, distractions, and the proliferation of misinformation. Through these pages, their voices rise like a chorus of witnesses, each story threading into the next.

I start with my personal story of silence, because silence cannot be explained into existence. On paper, it seems unreasonable—sitting still, doing nothing, waiting for… who knows what? Yet when you surrender and enter in, silence opens, and its depth is revealed as a gift from God.

I begin the book with my own story and introduction to silence because, honestly, you can't convince someone to love quiet. It doesn't make sense on paper—sitting still, doing nothing, listening to... what exactly? The gift only unwraps itself when you actually enter the experience—that's where God's surprise waits.

The subsequent chapters examine silence's documented impact on people's lives. My research produced an abundance of findings, requiring me to make a strategic choice—I zeroed in on the central question: What were these young urban silence-practitioners actually experiencing? Their experiences revealed patterns that became a theory, which I then validated against interdisciplinary research spanning neuroscience, theology, psychology, and anthropology.

This book unveils four distinct phases you might encounter on this inward journey of silence.

These aren't rigid checkpoints, but rather recognisable stages to offer comfort and understanding. It's like gaining a broader perspective, similar to a pilot flying very low and then deciding to climb higher. The view from above is completely different from the one below. I fall short of words, but perhaps it’s like an uncharted map, shifting focus from a small piece on the map to a vast landscape where silence unfolds in our practice or ritual.

The first phase, a struggle, finally helped me understand my own years of wrestling with silence. For so long, I tried but never felt it was my pathway to God. There are fascinating insights here about how our bodies interact with our minds in processing divine experience. Sadly, most people exit during this crucial stage. The second phase, letting go, illuminates a phrase we use so often but rarely live. These urbanites found creative, indigenous, and even makeshift practices—both sensory and non-sensory—that helped them surrender. The unification phase explores peak experience and flow states. It also sheds light on mystical experiences—those often overlooked in a world where science has muted the beauty of what cannot be seen or fully explained. The final phase explores transformation—how we experience authentic change in our lives.

Here’s a glimpse into the book in a few brief snapshots:

The problem

Noise-cancelling headphones, mindfulness apps, and urban meditation rooms signal a shift: silence is no longer tied to external spaces but to an internal practice. This evolution reflects a broader redefinition of space itself. Here's what's happening: silence got smart. It moved from churches and forests into our phones and headphones. We had to make quiet portable because we ran out of actual quiet places. The busier the world gets, the better we become at finding stillness inside ourselves.

These emerging patterns point toward humanity's essential question: How do we inhabit time without being consumed by it? We're all asking: How do we navigate this breakneck speed of modern existence? Yet perhaps we must ask whether our multiplication of methods for cultivating slowness and serenity merely skims the surface of our temporal alienation or treats symptoms rather than the underlying disease.

In our race toward speed and efficiency, we’ve lost something essential—a sense of rootedness, of rhythm, of self. Hartmut Rosa warns that acceleration doesn’t just stretch our time; it fractures our being. Speed has robbed us blind. Our losses: place becomes placelessness, objects become refuse, choices become paralysis, moments become vapor. We are digital ghosts haunting our own lives, juggling avatars while our bodies ache for singular presence—everywhere at once, nowhere at home.

The solution

Today’s culture tells you this: forget the slow, messy work of self-discovery—it takes too much time. Spirituality has gone full McDonald's—quick, easy, and delivered right to your door, and easy to consume. Apps, gadgets, and slogans promise peace in minutes. Need to chill out? There's a gadget for that—just ten minutes and you're supposedly zen. Prayer and sitting quietly? That feels ancient compared to getting all the answers right on your screen. 

Breaks and pauses can be fake solutions, leaving us more fatigued with a deeper yearning for the real. It is not about speed being bad and slowness being good. Nor does this book promote a state of ‘frenetic standstill’. Instead, it's about making friends with our fast world, harnessing the wisdom of living with both speed and slowness. It's not about mastering technique, but aligning your heart in the right posture.

Your heartbeat holds the secret—it's been orchestrating the right pace since you drew your first breath. No need for cultural quick-fixes or premium slow-living packages. The answer pulses quietly beneath your ribs. In silence, with patient attention and loving care, the sacred begins its gentle work. Growing slowly, surely, in divine timing.

All happening right under your skin.

Paul Claudel’s evocative concept that silence is a seed can be helpful.

A real break or rest isn't a product you can grab off the shelf; it's a seed that takes root in fertile ground during silence. Rest is more than a pause; it’s a way of being. That might explain why a holiday leaves some of us feeling completely worn out. You will enter the nurturing garden of the heart, tending to the seeds of solitude within you. The process will entail germination. It will sprout and grow and eventually blossom and ultimately yield the fruit of wellbeing:  

• We will undergo an initial struggle (the ‘dying in the ground’) that allows us to absorb the ‘water’ of new possibilities and triggers the ‘germination’ of growth.

• We sprout from this shift, letting go of the dying seed. Like a seedling seeking light, we ascend in the freedom of growth to blossom.

• Seedlings thrive on inner and outer elements and when unified, they will prosper in blossoming to bear fruit.

• Fruiting is the culmination of a deep transformation of the seed, blessing others and fulfilling your purpose with wisdom.

The process

Claude’s metaphor can also be applied to the images of climbing a mountain. Climbing a mountain mirrors the inner path: the struggle begins at basecamp, where oxygen runs thin, then comes the letting go as you ascent higher, followed by unification when you reach the peak, and finally living the transformation that the journey created.

The struggle at basecamp:

We've been treating our senses as temptations rather than teachers.

Allowing isn't just accepting the present; it's opening the door to possibilities.

Our obsession with speed has lulled us into a trance.

It is helpful to know why a practice of silence are so difficult. Studies at the University of Virginia show we'd rather engage in potentially harmful activities than be alone with our thoughts. Silence amplifies the mind's chaos. And according to Phillip Sheldrake, silence is basically the Ctrl+Alt+Delete of the soul—forcing a complete shutdown of life's usual background noise.

Imagine yourself at the foot of a majestic mountain, a bustling basecamp teeming with aspiring climbers. These temporary outposts serve as launchpads for expeditions, offering a taste of the adventure to come. But here's the catch: unlike training for physical exertion, there's no way to truly prepare for the thin air of high altitudes. At basecamp, with its oxygen levels plummeting to half of what you're used to, reaching the summit can become a dream deferred. The secret weapon? Acclimatisation.  It's a slow and patient process, a mindful approach to conquering the mountain one step at a time. Rest becomes as crucial as rigorous training, fuelling your body with nutritious food and staying well-hydrated are paramount. Acclimatisation refers to the process of gradually adapting to a new environment, particularly one with different climatic conditions. The most needed thing? Biological adjustment. At high altitudes, the body needs to adjust to lower oxygen levels. This involves increasing red blood cell production to carry more oxygen and enhancing lung function for better oxygen uptake.

Basecamp is a place of:

• Ambiguity: Inherent wisdom is discovered within the embrace of the unresolved. Ambiguity promises a ‘bigger frame’ or a different perspective to understand how seemingly contradictory ideas might coexist. This could involve looking at things from a spiritual or deeper self-viewpoint. Allow the discomfort and rather see these challenges like clouds obscuring the sun.

• Allowing: By acknowledging them, they eventually move on, revealing a deeper clarity and understanding. Trying to push away discomfort will only intensify it. I've heard reaching basecamp can take as long as five weeks to settle in!

• Labelling: Names don't just label reality—they build bridges to it. Our categorising brain needs these connections to navigate meaning in chaos. We often feel pressure to sugarcoat our truth. Swearing, anger, and hatred might feel like the raw, unfiltered reality, but expressing them can bring a sense of relief. The Psalms were the original unfiltered Twitter feed.

Hartmut Rosa once told a beautiful story about what it really means to slow down. When people express their desire for deceleration, they express a different way to be in the world. When somebody expresses a desire to stop and smell the roses, it is not the slowness or pause that we crave, but rather the resonant and transformative relationship we experience with nature.

Let go and ascent

Truth emerges not by adding, but by carefully removing what obscures it.

It's not about creating an empty void, but rather clearing space to receive a renewed sense of awareness.

Letting go is less like painting and more like pruning.

Focus doesn’t shrink your world—it sharpens it.

Is it possible that our internal voice, the essence of self, has become fragmented from this source, leading to a sense of fragmented reality? While division may feel safe, silence shows the cracks. We don’t leave basecamp with all our belongings. We only take necessities and leave the rest behind.

Our natural tendency is to resist change, to freeze in the face of the unknown. However, as Michael Singer emphasises in his book The Untethered Soul with his chapter “Let Go or Fall”, clinging on ultimately leads to a fall. The struggle itself, if we don't let go, will eventually overwhelm us.

Transformation comes not in sudden surrender but in the gentle unfurling of a clenched spirit. Like fingers slowly releasing their grip, we learn the art of holding life with an open palm rather than a desperate grasp. In this sacred space of letting go, something miraculous occurs—we become both the infinite canvas of awareness and the painting itself. Like autumn leaves drifting on wind currents, our thoughts no longer define us but dance through us. The line between observer and observed, between the sacred and the self, dissolves like dawn mist touched by sunlight, revealing that they were never truly separate at all.

The term ‘attach’ originates from the ancient French noun denoting a nail, or the verb indicating the action of nailing something or being nailed to something. By observing our thoughts and emotions without judgement, we create the space for them to gently release, much like removing a nail allows an object to become unfastened.

Let go and ascent asks for:

Acceptance: Acceptance doesn't mean giving up or passively accepting everything. Thoughts are like autumn leaves on a river. Try to dam them, and they'll pile up, blocking the flow. Let them float by, acknowledged but unhindered, and the water remains clear, carrying each one downstream. Letting go doesn't mean giving up, but rather welcoming and accepting what is in order to become more present. No one tells a tree how to shed its leaves—it just knows when it’s time. In the same way, a ritual doesn’t tell you what to feel, or when to let go. It simply creates the season—the quiet, intentional space—in which you finally can.

Focus: Focus doesn’t shrink your world—it sharpens it. True focus isn't about forcing your mind to stay on one thing. Instead, it's about letting go of distractions and allowing your attention to settle naturally. By anchoring your attention and in your bodily sensations, or immediate surroundings, you train your mind to be less reactive to external stimuli and internal chatter.

Sensory Savvy: Our body doesn’t need severe or grand gestures. Our bodies thrive on simplicity, not extravagance. While some spiritual practices push us to extremes, such extremes can be detrimental. Instead, by simply slowing down and immersing ourselves in the present moment, we can harness the power to transform our state of being and experience profound release. Dialogue isn't limited to words alone; just as silent gazes can convey deep meaning, our bodies can also communicate volumes.

Letting go isn't about losing yourself; it's about becoming a more expansive and fulfilled version of yourself. The soul’s expression begins with treating yourself tenderly and allowing yourself to be exactly as you are. Truth emerges not by adding, but by carefully removing what obscures it.

Peak of Oneness

While the Enlightenment shed light on reason, it cast a shadow on questions of the soul.

When the self softens, the soul stretches. In turning from ‘me’ to ‘we’, the veil lifts—and we remember we’ve always been part of everything.

The real question is not whether silence or psychedelics work—but: What are we trying to wake up from? And what kind of awakening are we longing for?

You don’t find Him the way you find a lost key. You awaken to Him the way a flower opens to light—slowly, surely, completely. 

We all know a good perspective can change how we see things, but sometimes we underestimate just how much it influences our thinking. It's like finally reaching the top floor of a skyscraper and realising the entire world looks different from up there! Just like switching to a wide-angle lens on a camera can make a tiny space feel gigantic, shifting your perspective. Rumi said: " All know that the drop merges into the ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop". There is a profound unity between the individual (the drop) and the collective (the ocean). Many spiritual traditions believe that a spiritual life consists of the highest human activity where God absorbs one’s life in union. Imagine a life completely devoted to connecting with God. For some, this is the ultimate goal, a spiritual marriage between God and the human soul. Thinkers like Teresa of Avila used the metaphor of a bride and bridegroom to describe this union.

Oneness asks for:

Unexplainables: Unexplainable experiences often carry a social stigma. We dismiss these moments as strange or wrong, rather than embracing them as potential windows to a deeper reality. Don't chase extraordinary experiences. Instead, seek the wonder in the ordinary. You don't need extraordinary events to feel a connection with something greater. Silence helps you find the divine in the ordinary moments of life. Déjà vu is a perfect example. You experience something completely new, yet it feels strangely familiar. Science offers explanations, but the eerie feeling of a ‘remembered’ moment keeps the experience shrouded in mystery.

The true self: Silence and marriage have something big in common: they both ask us to get over ourselves. It’s the shift from ‘me’ to ‘we’. From disconnection to communion. Like drops of water merging into a stream, silence invites the fractured self into flow—a deeper, more integrated wholeness. This isn’t about erasing the mess inside. It’s about weaving contradictions into a bigger story. And what do we find there? Not answers. Not perfection. A truer version of ourselves.

Bodacious being: What if your soul isn't trapped within your body, but expressing through it? What if each sensation, each movement, each breath is not separate from your spiritual essence but the very language through which your soul speaks its truth into existence? Understanding the link between physical wellbeing and presence is key. Our biological framework profoundly influences our spirituality, demonstrating how our physical existence shapes our perception of the divine. Your soul isn’t waiting for heaven. It’s waiting for you to show up—here, now, embodied. And the more gradually you arrive in this moment, the more fully you’ll find what’s been here all along: you are already home.

Descent of integration

Like a tree, we can only sustain what we’ve first allowed to grow in silence.

Growth's golden rule: new heights need new eyes.

Silence is the cathedral where doubt lights its candle. It does not ask what you believe—it listens. Where religion ends, silence begins.

The seed doesn’t strive to become a tree—it surrenders. So too, in silence, your soul finds its roots. Growth isn’t about climbing higher, but about sinking deeper into the divine rhythm that carries you upward. As the sun climbs higher, the day gets brighter. Like Moses descending the mountain with a radiant face, we emerge changed not by our doing, but by what has been done through us. In this realm, wisdom flows like morning light through stained glass, creating patterns we could never design but can only receive. The body becomes our temple of presence, where sensation, emotion, and thought weave together in a tapestry of awakened consciousness. It's no coincidence that the eagle soars highest here, teaching us to ride life's storms with grace, just as the tribes of Israel gathered under its wings in the wilderness.

The descent will help you:

To listen to the rooster: There is an Ntomba proverb: "A rooster does not sing on two roofs." The saying "put a roof over someone's head" can help us explain this truth. It simply means to give someone a home or shelter. The real question is: Under which roof do you choose to stay? The true or the false self? When Peter denied Jesus, the rooster crowed. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a spiritual alarm clock. A wake-up call that he’d been singing from the wrong roof. We all do it sometimes, seeking the roof of approval over our own truth.

With knowable presence: Will we become digital archaeologists, unearthing forgotten memories and forgotten selves from the vast repositories of our online lives, much like archaeologists excavating ancient civilisations? Silence zones, time-out zones, meditation apps, tech-free-zones and the list goes on… it's like everyone's suddenly obsessed with ‘unplugging’. We're all about mastering the art of ignoring the noise: "Out of Office: Officially Offline". "Unplug and Recharge: Your brain is not a battery". Practices, like tending a garden, create fertile ground for the seeds of knowledge and discernment to sprout. The knowable presence isn't a product, but a companion and process that emerges as we dedicate ourselves to practices that foster clarity.

In the sacred geography of our inner world, each direction prepares the way for the East to reveal its wisdom. True revelation comes not from our striving, but from the realisation that our deepest truth reveals itself through us when we learn to receive the gift of who we are in the embrace of God.

Thoughts on the experience of silence

You’re just remembering what your soul never forgot.

True silence isn't an empty void, but a cultivated state.

We do not climb toward God as much as fall into God.

An important observation by Rohr is that some mystics propose a divine quartet. They see creation itself as the ‘fourth person of the Blessed Trinity’, making the dance of God an all-inclusive one. In this amazing and lavish love, the circle is open and creation and human life can fully partake in the experience of the Trinitarian life itself. This idea of creation being a part of the Trinity connects to a bigger idea in philosophy called ‘the power of three’. It basically means that when three things come together in a special way, something new and amazing is always created as the fourth. Silence is not one thing. It is a movement, a fourfold unfolding of the soul. Beneath its stillness is a rhythm older than words, one that speaks of how life comes, goes, dies, and is reborn.

The Greek cross (crux quadrata) designates a cross with arms of equal length, as in a plus sign. Early Christians likely avoided using the Latin cross or crux immissa as a symbol because it was linked to shameful executions. Scholars traditionally believed this delay lasted about 400 years before the image of Jesus's crucifixion became widely accepted.

My explorations have spanned 32 distinct quadrennial approaches. Here's a glimpse of a few:

This table and diagram depict the cyclical nature of a quadrennial journey. It explores the connection between the four cardinal directions (South, West, North, East) and their corresponding seasons (summer, autumn, winter, spring). Each quadrant delves into various aspects of transformation. These elements are interconnected, highlighting the continuous flow and growth throughout the quadrennial cycle.

Henri Nouwen and Eugene Peterson's insightful trapeze artist metaphor captures the essence of spiritual growth. It emphasises a cyclical movement, rather than a linear progression, between the mind (representing the divided self) and the heart (representing the undivided self). This ongoing process involves a constant back-and-forth between these two contrasting states. This model embraces tensions, fostering continuous conversion, awareness, and connection. It can be helpful as a roadmap for exploration, understanding the process of flow and coherence, aligning inner and outer postures, and deepening your experience and experience healing and transformation.

A last word

Perhaps time itself isn't what we seek, but rather the divine grace it carries within each moment.

Stillness and silence may be the universe’s way of inviting us to listen—to become spacious enough to absorb truth.

Silence does not merely still the noise; it reweaves our belonging to time. Each moment becomes a chalice, cupping something of the eternal.

Racing against the clock doesn't just exhaust us—it drives our soul into hiding.

The divine doesn't live in our schedules—it breaks through them.

Silence becomes the canvas where we come to know God beyond words. As we engage our practice, the distant third-person God draws near, becoming the intimate second-person presence. In time, we discover that this presence lives within us—first-person and incarnate. In this space, God doesn't just speak. God names us. "I’ll call the unloved and make them beloved. Salvation comes by personal selection. God doesn’t count us; he calls us by name." (Romans 9:25-28, Msg)  And in the divine embrace, we remember who we have always been. As we mentioned earlier, in Ecclesiastes 3:16-17, we hear a soft reassurance: God’s justice, though often hidden, is always present. It lifts us beyond the limits of our sight and into trust: "The righteous accept the flow and find the way. Letting go of time, they enter eternity, letting go of self they find tranquility."