A Quiet Knowing- Reflections from the farm

A knowingness that’s hard to name but impossible to ignore? A rhythm that doesn’t match the world's noise, but feels truer than anything else?

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on these questions. A talk I listened to recently, stirred something in me; something that had already been blooming slowly over the years. It was about the soul’s calling, the voice inside that often gets drowned out by the world outside. It resonated so deeply, as though the speaker had reached into my own thoughts and given them shape.

We all come here with something to do, something to be. But the world, with its loud opinions and expectations, can muffle that inner voice. From childhood through school and into adulthood, we’re handed scripts—to study hard, to get a job, to stay safe & to be successful. But what if those scripts don’t fit into who we really are? How do we hold on to our essence in the face of so much noise? Project Modernity, I once heard it called—the idea that everything has to make sense, have a goal, a measurable outcome.

But where does that leave wonder? Where does it leave the soul?

Have you ever felt a quiet pull inside you?

Reflecting deeply on this...

I am grateful that life has brought me to a place that helps me listen again. Living on a small farm, surrounded by trees, birds, soil, and sky, I’ve begun to rediscover the rhythm of a quieter truth. Being away from the rush and constant hum of urban life, has given me space to listen again. It’s a slower life, yes—but it’s also a life of deep richness. There’s an abundance here—not in terms of wealth or things, but a textured, sensory fullness that makes me feel rich from within. Nature doesn’t rush, yet everything gets done. It trusts the process. There is a quiet orchestration to how things grow. There’s a rhythm. And in witnessing it, I’m learning to rediscover my own.

It reminds me of my younger self, lying under the vast blue sky, with this question- ‘what lay beyond it ?’ I didn’t receive answers, but the questions stayed—and led me to books, to wonder, to seeking. That curiosity never left me. It shaped how I saw the world—wide, open, full of mystery.

Now, watching the sky from this farm, the same vastness fills me again.

Only this time, I’m not just seeking answers—I’m learning to sit with the questions.

There’s a metaphor that stays with me: the seed in the dark soil. At a first glance, the seed appears dormant, lost in the damp, heavy earth. But it holds a potential so vibrant, so alive, just waiting for the right conditions. A little warmth, a touch of light, a bit of love—and it begins to grow. When the conditions are right, it unfurls—not with drama, but with quiet determination. At every stage, even the waiting, is sacred. This growth is not perfect. It doesn't happen all at once. Sometimes the sprout curves sideways, meets rocks, bends toward light in awkward angles.

But the growth is real. And it need not be perfect. That’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve learnt from being close to nature.

That’s what I’ve come to honour—the realness of slow, imperfect, alive growth. Of finding a rhythm that is mine and allowing life to be a dance between the inner and outer, the self and the world. And in this dance, I find guidance. Some of it comes from within, and some from nature, from signs and from the silence.

One of the ways we did honour this in our lives is by choosing to homeschool our son. It’s not an act of rebellion—it’s a response to an inner voice, a conscious choice to stay close to our values. We want to nurture not just learning, but the curiosity, the questions, the wonder. It’s not always easy, but it’s deeply aligned.

And maybe that’s what this blog is really about. An invitation—not just to live differently, but to live more honestly. To listen, to sense, to be okay with not having all the answers. To ask yourself- When was the last time you felt abundant without needing anything? When did you last feel truly connected to life—not just the tasks, but the life beneath it all?

The seed in the dark soil...

May we find ways to return to that place, again and again. Like seeds, waiting quietly, we too can bloom—imperfect, beautiful, enough.

That seed is all of us. We’re part of a larger ecosystem, each with our own season, our own rhythm. The richness outside—the soil, scent, sky—feeds the richness inside. When you live in sync with this, you stop striving and start living. You stop fearing and start listening.

So I ask you—what is the seed inside you waiting for? What would it take to listen to your own rhythm? You don’t have to be perfect. Just be present. That might be enough to begin.

I don’t know where this path will lead. But, I do know this—I am no longer afraid of not fitting in. I’m more interested in being true. I’m learning to dance between the inner and outer, to let my own life be an orchestra of sorts—sometimes quiet, sometimes wild, always real. And maybe, just maybe, you’re feeling that too…

If this reflection resonated with you, I invite you to slow down, breathe deeply, and reconnect with the rhythms of your own life. Whether it’s through the simplicity of nature, the quiet joy of mindful living, or the courage to follow your own truth—your journey is yours to honour.

Feel free to share your thoughts, stories, or even a photo that captures your own dance of life. Let’s celebrate this quiet unfolding—together…