#4 Agni and the Power of Silence

Know Time like the Present

After the seminar, I embarked on my journey—leaving home, packing my essentials, and embracing loved ones tightly one last time. Agni had invited me for lunch at his Santa Fe home that Friday, so I flew to the States, secured a rental car, and set off toward New Mexico.

My path ahead remained entirely unplanned. I had booked a week's stay at a Santa Fe hotel, intending to determine my next steps after meeting Agni. Navigating this utter uncertainty—not knowing where I might be in a week or two, with no fixed timeline or any future plans— deeply challenged me initially. I was used to being a workaholic, therefore having too many things to get done in a short amount of time always kept my mind busy. Now I had all the time in the world with literally nothing I had to accomplish. My mind was going crazy. I felt like I was floating in space with no direction. I also realized how much I defined my self with my job. Now, not having a job or a label for ‘what I was doing in life’, I lost my sense of identity. Who was I? During that first month, I experienced frequent moments of quiet panic whenever thoughts of the future or questions about my life's direction came up—questions for which I genuinely had no answers. Yet these bouts of anxiety ultimately became catalysts, forcing me to master the art of living in the present.

Since contemplating the future triggered such anxiety in me, I made a deliberate choice to avoid it. The unknown was too overwhelming. Instead, I redirected my attention to present matters as a coping strategy. I developed an internal dialogue: "Didem, you might not know where you'll be next week, but you know where you are today. There are more immediate things you need to think about, such as, what will you have for lunch? Will you dine out or bring food back to your room? Do you still want to go for an afternoon walk? You also need to get gas for the car, and do laundry. So you don’t get to dwell on what the future holds before handling today’s issues. Once you complete today’s to do list, then you can think about tomorrow, and only when you complete your to do list for the next few days, can you think about further into the future.”

When I focused on the present moment and my breathing, the anxiety gradually dissolved, allowing me to appreciate what was right in front of me. This strategy became my lifeline, which I continue to use to this day. Whenever future uncertainty begins to overwhelm me, I gently redirect myself: "Didem, first address what's immediate—have you decided on dinner? Completed your laundry? Done your meditation or daily walk?" I remind myself that contemplating the future is a privilege earned only after fulfilling today's commitments. So, I proceed through my day, anchoring my attention to whatever task lies directly before me.

This "one day at a time" approach deeply transformed my ability to inhabit the present moment. Now, I find my mind  is naturally anchored in the now, with an increasing ease in redirecting my attention whenever it wanders. Even in genuinely scary situations, anxiety no longer overwhelms me.

The Pilgrim’s Mirage: Seeking External Wisdom

However, during my initial journey to Agni's home, I hadn't yet developed this presence of mind. The vast uncertainty still terrified me, and my mind desperately grasped for some predictability. I hoped Agni might provide that stability, perhaps offering direction or guidance. My confidence in my own inner wisdom remained fragile, overshadowed by deeply ingrained beliefs from my modern education: "I lack knowledge; only the enlightened teacher knows the way forward." I secretly wished Agni would invite me to stay in Santa Fe for spiritual training, or at least chart my next steps. I was still seeking external validation and answers, looking outside myself for guidance. 

When Agni opened his door, my eyes revealed this searching— a longing for someone to illuminate my path ahead. He greeted me with a smile that immediately warmed my heart. When I met his gaze, it resonated through my entire existence, touching something fundamental within every cell—as though he perceived my core, perhaps even glimpsing aspects of my past and future that remained hidden from me. There was a penetrating wisdom that seemed to reach into the depths of my being. He welcomed me with genuine friendliness, embraced me, and ushered me inside for our lunch.

Our lunch unfolded with delicious food, wine, stories of adventure, and abundant laughter. Agni offered no spiritual discourse, no sage advice, no teachings, no directional guidance—nothing I had anticipated. I waited expectantly for wisdom or instruction. Any morsel of direction, yet it never came. When I inquired about possible training opportunities, he seemed to read my thoughts, simply stating, "I don't give trainings anymore," without elaboration. He neither encouraged me to stay nor suggested I go elsewhere. He recommended no books or teachings. He said virtually nothing—just looked at me with compassionate eyes and offered these simple words: "Listen to your heart.”

When I asked about my spiritual name, he wrote "Urala—ambassador of Pleiades" on paper. Seeking clarification, he again redirected me inward: "Ask your heart; your heart will tell you whatever you need to know.”

The Gift of No Answers

At that moment, I couldn't grasp the profound significance of Agni's silence. Understanding required more living, more witnessing. In hindsight, I finally recognize the precious gift he gave me that day. Now, I understand that Agni conveyed volumes through his silence. His singular directive to "listen to your heart" eloquently expressed: "You already possess the answers you seek; don't look to me or anyone else." "Your heart alone is sufficient; trust yourself." "Are you aware of the wisdom dwelling within you? Look nowhere else." "No one's answer, including mine, holds more value than what your own heart reveals.”

What could be more honoring or empowering? In all my years, I've never encountered any words—regardless of their eloquence—more empowering than his deliberate silence. I now recognize how deeply he respected me by withholding his vast wisdom.

Through this silence, Agni granted me a most precious gift—guiding me toward honoring my inner voice. He illuminated the path to my innate wisdom, personal power, and self-confidence.

Had he invited me to stay for his teachings, I would have accepted instantly, learning dependence on him rather than self-reliance. Had he provided answers, I would have learned to seek him out rather than consulting my heart, believing his wisdom superseded my own. Instead, Agni reminded me of something infinitely more valuable—that I can trust my heart, rely on myself, and that my inner wisdom already contains everything I need. He had the extraordinary ability to mirror my own heart, and through his silence, I could finally hear its gentle reassurance: "It's okay, you can trust me.”

As I prepared to leave, Agni embraced me, gently placed his hand over my heart, and whispered one final counsel: "Always follow your heart and you will never go wrong.”

The Sound of Silence

Though Agni didn't formally "teach" me that day, his influence continued to unfold in the months that followed. Most profoundly, I learned the power of silence. In our era of information overload—where advice flows freely and everyone seems eager to share their wisdom—I discovered the rare potency of withholding words. I realized that when we offer unsolicited advice or attempt to instruct others about their lives, we inadvertently diminish their agency. Such interventions subtly convey that they lack answers which we possess—a fundamentally presumptuous stance that disempowers and potentially disrespects.

Each person carries divine wisdom within their heart. No heart outranks another in capacity or significance—we are all equal and interconnected. Ultimately, no one truly possesses greater knowledge than another; we each hold our unique truths and answers within.

This understanding taught me that silence can be among our greatest virtues. I learned to withhold my opinions unless specifically invited to share them. Even when asked, I've grown cautious about offering anything not authentically coming from my heart. I no longer impose my mental chatter on others, potentially drowning out their inner voice with my own noise.

I discovered that the most precious gift we can offer someone is to become a quiet mirror reflecting their own heart—allowing them to recognize their inherent beauty, truth, and wisdom.

I remain eternally grateful to Agni for modeling this approach so powerfully. The lessons from his silence have proven more valuable than most books I've read throughout my life.

To be candid, this remains an aspiration rather than a constant reality. Living this principle daily proves challenging, and I often fall short. Yet, I continue to embrace myself with compassion, gently redirecting toward this ideal, knowing that my sincere effort each day is all I can truly offer, and that is good enough.

The Art of Heart-Listening

After leaving Agni, I committed to following my heart, only to quickly discover the complexity of this seemingly simple instruction. How does one identify the heart's authentic voice? In a world where our minds constantly scream for attention, where we're flooded with external opinions and conditioned fears, how do we discern our heart's quiet guidance? How do we distinguish its whispers from mental chatter, past traumas, or entrenched fears? How do we filter through all this noise? I came to understand that hearing one's heart is truly an art form—one I continue to learn through trials, errors, and countless missteps. I've also learned not to fear mistakes, recognizing them as essential teachers in mastering the subtle language of the heart.

There are moments when I mistake my fears for my heart's voice. Even these misidentifications serve a purpose—they teach me to recognize the distinct texture and tone of my fear, helping me differentiate what is not my heart's authentic voice, thus bringing me closer to identifying what is. Through quiet self-observation, I'm gradually learning to distinguish between these inner voices.

Once you commit to hearing your heart, every experience—whether joyful or painful, grounding or disorienting—ultimately guides you back to this center.

As a wise author wrote: "I will love the light for it shows me the way; yet I will love the darkness for it shows me the stars." Similarly, I've grown to cherish my heart's clear guidance while equally appreciating all other internal noise, recognizing how each vibration eventually leads me back to my heart's true voice.

I've spoken at length about silence's power, yet here I am ironically talking too much. But at least these words flow authentically from my heart. :)

Following the Inner Child

After leaving Agni, I set my intention to follow my heart despite my confusion about its true voice. Fortunately, I had no deadline—just time to learn. While relaxing in a coffee shop and browsing online, I discovered images of the White Sand Dunes, a stunning desert merely a three hour drive away. Upon seeing the pictures, my inner five-year-old immediately took command, and all I could think was, "I AM GOING TO TUMBLE DOWN WHITE SAND DUNES!" Lost in childlike excitement, I momentarily forgot my philosophical contemplations about discerning my heart's voice. Without analysis or deliberation, I simply booked a nearby hotel and prepared for my adventure.

Sometimes, the purest way to hear your heart is to surrender control to your inner child.

And so I headed toward the white sands, completely unaware that I would divinely discover love in the middle of a desert. This is how I met Andrew.

Urala