Voices
from Silence
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Personal stories of engaging in silence by practitioners from the Global Majority Heritage (GMH) or Black and Indigenous Peoples of Colour (BIPOC) communities.* |
A quarter of the way into the new millennium the reality for many people from this community is that their lives and stories are sidelined. Their voices are silenced.
Although many people from GMH/ BIPOC communities have a spiritual practice of silence, authors from these communities have tended to write more about their experiences of silencing than of their engagement with silence-based prayer.
This new series is a way to bring some voices from the GMH/ BIPOC communities into the conversations and resources about silence on the Seeds of Silence website.
Although many people from GMH/ BIPOC communities have a spiritual practice of silence, authors from these communities have tended to write more about their experiences of silencing than of their engagement with silence-based prayer.
This new series is a way to bring some voices from the GMH/ BIPOC communities into the conversations and resources about silence on the Seeds of Silence website.
July, 2026, Cameron Johnson:
'Between the Notes: Listening in a Silent Way'
Image: Chase Baker, USA, unsplash.com/@sandbarproductions
Cameron Johnson,
Atlanta, Georgia, USA |
Listen to Cameron reading 'Between the Notes: Listening in a Silent Way'
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Between the Notes: Listening in a Silent Way
I returned to Atlanta after spending eight days at a silent retreat in the hills of New Mexico. The calm I found there dissolved quickly as soon as I landed in the noisy city. Wanting to hold onto that peace, I planned to spend the afternoon within the quiet of the local library, writing about my experience. But when I got there, the parking lot was empty, and the doors were locked for Juneteenth.* So, I changed plans and drove to one of my favourite coffee shops in Decatur. I knew it wouldn’t be completely quiet, but I thought the background noise would be manageable.
I didn’t expect the public square across the street to turn into a World Cup watch party. It was too cold inside, so I sat at a table outside to enjoy the summer sun while I wrote. From my seat, I watched crowds fill Decatur Square. Atlanta, always a busy city, was showing off as a global host, and the square had become a stadium lawn for 'Watchfest', with seats and a giant screen showing the match.
The rumble seemed to vibrate through me. Music blaring from cars at the intersections, conversations from passing pedestrians, play-by-play of the match, and synchronized cheers created a cacophony that charged the atmosphere. The more I tried to conjure a sense of focus, the louder the public square grew. I sat there looking over my mug of green tea and a yellow legal pad filled with scribblings.
Smiling to myself and caught somewhere between frustration and amusement, I made one last attempt to find my words: I pressed play on Miles Davis’s 1969 album, In a Silent Way. Fully aware of the irony, pressing play became a playful act of protest and surrender to the absurdity of the day.
The track opened with a minimal groove, moving organ drone, and entrancing cymbals. Miles, Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, and John McLaughlin seemed to carve a tunnel right through the outside noise. Even with all of this, silence seemed to be the main instrument that the band built around. Then the flash of insight hit me, and my shoulders finally dropped.
I remembered hearing that Miles instructed his musicians to play 'what wasn't there': this is what many critics and musicians have described as 'ghost melodies', implied phrases that aren’t explicitly played but, in a sense, may be 'heard' inwardly by the listener. They arise between the notes—in the negative space of the arrangement.
Leaning back from the table, I realized that this is exactly what silence allows. Silence is not a vacuum; it is the space where our own ghost melodies, the deep, foundational knowing that we carry at our centre, finally get enough room to rise to the top. By finding silence, even within the noise, we allow our truest selves to become audible.
The clamour of the crowd on the green didn't need to vanish. They were simply the loud, explicit 'notes' of the city, while my internal stillness became the vast space underneath them. Finding quiet in a monastery is easy, but we can't all live our days in a cloister. Finding silence, channelled through a jazz record across from a screaming public square, proved a greater truth: Silence is always available to us when we understand that it doesn't always have to mean the complete absence of noise; sometimes it's in the brief moments between the notes.
* Juneteenth is an federal holiday in the USA that celebrates the end of slavery. Observed on 19th June every year, its name comes from combining June and nineteenth.
I didn’t expect the public square across the street to turn into a World Cup watch party. It was too cold inside, so I sat at a table outside to enjoy the summer sun while I wrote. From my seat, I watched crowds fill Decatur Square. Atlanta, always a busy city, was showing off as a global host, and the square had become a stadium lawn for 'Watchfest', with seats and a giant screen showing the match.
The rumble seemed to vibrate through me. Music blaring from cars at the intersections, conversations from passing pedestrians, play-by-play of the match, and synchronized cheers created a cacophony that charged the atmosphere. The more I tried to conjure a sense of focus, the louder the public square grew. I sat there looking over my mug of green tea and a yellow legal pad filled with scribblings.
Smiling to myself and caught somewhere between frustration and amusement, I made one last attempt to find my words: I pressed play on Miles Davis’s 1969 album, In a Silent Way. Fully aware of the irony, pressing play became a playful act of protest and surrender to the absurdity of the day.
The track opened with a minimal groove, moving organ drone, and entrancing cymbals. Miles, Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, and John McLaughlin seemed to carve a tunnel right through the outside noise. Even with all of this, silence seemed to be the main instrument that the band built around. Then the flash of insight hit me, and my shoulders finally dropped.
I remembered hearing that Miles instructed his musicians to play 'what wasn't there': this is what many critics and musicians have described as 'ghost melodies', implied phrases that aren’t explicitly played but, in a sense, may be 'heard' inwardly by the listener. They arise between the notes—in the negative space of the arrangement.
Leaning back from the table, I realized that this is exactly what silence allows. Silence is not a vacuum; it is the space where our own ghost melodies, the deep, foundational knowing that we carry at our centre, finally get enough room to rise to the top. By finding silence, even within the noise, we allow our truest selves to become audible.
The clamour of the crowd on the green didn't need to vanish. They were simply the loud, explicit 'notes' of the city, while my internal stillness became the vast space underneath them. Finding quiet in a monastery is easy, but we can't all live our days in a cloister. Finding silence, channelled through a jazz record across from a screaming public square, proved a greater truth: Silence is always available to us when we understand that it doesn't always have to mean the complete absence of noise; sometimes it's in the brief moments between the notes.
* Juneteenth is an federal holiday in the USA that celebrates the end of slavery. Observed on 19th June every year, its name comes from combining June and nineteenth.
Cameron Johnson, July, 2026.
Cameron Johnson is a contemplative teacher, speaker and spiritual accompanier based in Atlanta, Georgia, in the USA. He graduated from Bethune-Cookman University in 2015 and from Candler School of Theology with an MDiv in 2019. Cameron offers grounded and compassionate presence to those who are questioning, exploring, and seeking to deepen their inner lives. He creates spaces for rest, reflection, and inner transformation, has shared wisdom at contemplative summits, and currently co-facilitates Meditation Is a Must, a monthly musical meditation that weaves guided practice with the lyrical insight of hip-hop artists.
You can connect with Cameron on instagram: @2dopesoul
To listen for the 'ghost melodies' that Cameron heard in the Miles Davis track, click the album image.
To listen for the 'ghost melodies' that Cameron heard in the Miles Davis track, click the album image.
* The terms 'Global Majority Heritage' (GMH) and 'Black and Indigenous Peoples of Colour' (BIPOC) refers to people whose backgrounds are from non-Western, non-White ethnic and cultural groups, reflecting the fact that the majority of the world’s population comes from Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Middle East. These terms acknowledge the rich heritage of ancient Indigenous communities and challenge the traditional framing of racial and ethnic minorities by emphasizing that these populations are, in fact, the global majority.
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