My name is Mateo. I didn't come to silence out of desperation, but out of pure curiosity. I had heard many times about how valuable it is to ‘just be’, but I never took it seriously. One day, for no particular reason, I decided to stop. Not because I felt overwhelmed, but because I began to suspect that there was something in the stillness that I didn't yet know.

I walked along a little-travelled path that followed the course of a small river. I was in no hurry, no destination. The sun was falling at an angle, dyeing the stones and branches golden. When I reached a bend where the water formed a sort of quiet inlet, I stopped. The place seemed suspended in time: no wind, no voices, just the sound of the water gliding patiently by.

I sat on a smooth rock, still warm from the sun. I closed my eyes, not to meditate, but to listen. And what I heard was not the river, not the birds, but my own breathing, my body loosening, my thoughts settling without resistance. There was no struggle, no searching. It was as if, for a moment, everything had permission to just be.

I stayed like that, still, for much longer than I thought I would. When I opened my eyes, everything seemed sharper. The textures of the moss, the exact colour of the water, the curve of a floating branch. Nothing had changed, but everything was different. More alive. Closer.

I didn't come away with any great revelations. Only the certainty that there is a corner where time does not weigh, where one does not have to correct oneself, explain oneself or reach for anything. That corner was not only by the river. It was, and still is, inside me. Sometimes it is enough to remain still to remember it.