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.
August, 2026, Zenna Moeti:
'The Silent Voice of Intuition'
Image: Created by ChatGPT 5.5
Zenna Moeti, Trinidad,
Botswana and South Africa |
Listen to Zenna reading her text, 'The Silent Voice of Intuition'
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The Silent Voice of Intuition
And the Lord said to Moses, 'Why do you cry to Me? ... Lift up your rod, and stretch out your hand over the sea and part it ...' (Exodus 14:15)
I distinctly remember the conflict of emotions that arose within me after hearing these words as I desperately cried out to God for help. My postnatal recovery was spiralling downward, and the demands of my newborn baby were overwhelming. How could 'Why do you cry to Me?' be His response to my desperate plea for help? I lamented as I slumped onto the bathroom floor, shattered by the absence of comfort. Those words pierced my heart.
For a moment, letting go of my dependence on God to face what felt like His abandonment during this difficult time seemed as though it would cause my world to come crashing down. Up until then, my meditation practice had been life-giving, but surely no amount of meditation could have prepared me for this level of detachment or depths of despair, I convinced myself. Where was my loving God who promised to be with me always?
Yet the more I sat on the precipice of my sanity, contemplating this response, the louder my baby's cries grew, and the clearer my interior senses became. Despite all the noise and confusion, an intuitive kind of knowing emerged. Perhaps the season for knowing and understanding had finally ripened for this encounter to unfold within the strength and vulnerability of motherhood, allowing me to experience 'Christ as a living force within me—energising me, healing, and transforming' me.
My voice of intuition reminded me that I had a voice—one so powerful that it could carry my pain into the environment that held me—and I, too, could lift my rod and part my sea. Exhausted, I lifted myself from the bathroom floor, wiped away my tears, and directed the path my suffering would follow.
'We need help!' I called out into the loving presence that surrounded my husband me.
The word help was heavy with all the unspoken words that we no longer had the capacity to carry on our own.
Before long, a welcome knock at the front door brought with it the loving hands of family members who came to support my husband and me through the demands of life with a newborn and two young children. The sea that needed parting was not only before me; it had begun to part within me.
Appreciating the different textures of silence hidden between the lines of life's many storms is no easy task. Yet it is within this silence that an intuitive way of knowing awakens us to 'see with wonder the light of our own spirit.'¹ As I continue to trust this quiet voice of intuition that meditation and contemplation uncover, I am reminded that faith is not only about waiting for the sea to part but also finding the courage to stretch out my hand over my seas.
¹ John Main, Word Into Silence (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1980), 31.
For a moment, letting go of my dependence on God to face what felt like His abandonment during this difficult time seemed as though it would cause my world to come crashing down. Up until then, my meditation practice had been life-giving, but surely no amount of meditation could have prepared me for this level of detachment or depths of despair, I convinced myself. Where was my loving God who promised to be with me always?
Yet the more I sat on the precipice of my sanity, contemplating this response, the louder my baby's cries grew, and the clearer my interior senses became. Despite all the noise and confusion, an intuitive kind of knowing emerged. Perhaps the season for knowing and understanding had finally ripened for this encounter to unfold within the strength and vulnerability of motherhood, allowing me to experience 'Christ as a living force within me—energising me, healing, and transforming' me.
My voice of intuition reminded me that I had a voice—one so powerful that it could carry my pain into the environment that held me—and I, too, could lift my rod and part my sea. Exhausted, I lifted myself from the bathroom floor, wiped away my tears, and directed the path my suffering would follow.
'We need help!' I called out into the loving presence that surrounded my husband me.
The word help was heavy with all the unspoken words that we no longer had the capacity to carry on our own.
Before long, a welcome knock at the front door brought with it the loving hands of family members who came to support my husband and me through the demands of life with a newborn and two young children. The sea that needed parting was not only before me; it had begun to part within me.
Appreciating the different textures of silence hidden between the lines of life's many storms is no easy task. Yet it is within this silence that an intuitive way of knowing awakens us to 'see with wonder the light of our own spirit.'¹ As I continue to trust this quiet voice of intuition that meditation and contemplation uncover, I am reminded that faith is not only about waiting for the sea to part but also finding the courage to stretch out my hand over my seas.
¹ John Main, Word Into Silence (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1980), 31.
Zenna Moeti, August 2026.
Zenna Moeti is a SoulCore leader and a member of the WCCM Caribbean Leadership Team in Trinidad and Tobago.
An alumna of the WCCM Academy, she shares the gift of Christian meditation and contemplative living in Botswana, where she currently lives.
In January, she will join the Dainfern College Foundation in South Africa as a volunteer, supporting its mission to strengthen educational opportunities for children at Dainfern College and its partner schools in previously disadvantaged communities. Inspired by the Foundation's values of excellence, integrity, service, inclusion, compassion, and responsible stewardship, she is passionate about nurturing both the inner and outer transformation of individuals and communities. To learn more about the Dainfern College Foundation and how you can support its work, click here.
An alumna of the WCCM Academy, she shares the gift of Christian meditation and contemplative living in Botswana, where she currently lives.
In January, she will join the Dainfern College Foundation in South Africa as a volunteer, supporting its mission to strengthen educational opportunities for children at Dainfern College and its partner schools in previously disadvantaged communities. Inspired by the Foundation's values of excellence, integrity, service, inclusion, compassion, and responsible stewardship, she is passionate about nurturing both the inner and outer transformation of individuals and communities. To learn more about the Dainfern College Foundation and how you can support its work, click here.
* 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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