They Mistook Our Silence for Permission
Scroll LXXII
They Mistook Our Silence for Permission
There is a silence that is sacred, and a silence that is strategic. We mastered both.
They mistook our bowed heads for surrender. They assumed our absence meant irrelevance. But not every silence is passive— some silences are storms waiting for signal.
We were silent not because we agreed, but because we remembered who we were becoming.
While they crowned themselves gatekeepers of truth, we built altars no empire could see. While they preached to crowds, we whispered to the wind and the bones of the earth.
Our silence was never consent. It was calibration. A holy withdrawal. A quiet reclaiming of power.
They wrote laws in the name of God, but Spirit was never on their scrolls. They held microphones and mistook them for mandate.
What they heard as silence was the sound of ancestral memory reshaping itself into revolution.
And now— we speak not with anger, but with awakening. With a language that does not need permission. With a voice not sanctioned by pulpits or policy.
We were never yours to muzzle. We were the storm watching you sleep.
"The silence was never surrender— it was the sound of fire sharpening its memory."
↠ Whisper to the Flame