Chapter 2 · Shadows and Mirrors

Sounds

Cristina do Valle Mirrors of the Infinite

Can I learn to love these sounds; Daggers flung through fragile air, Filling my ears with burning frost, On sacred ground, on dirt and loss? What must my mind invent to flee, The hiss that crawls through every wall, That shreds through time, relentless, small, A needle boring endlessly? I run through corridors of space, Sliding clumsily in cotton socks, Chased by sirens, high-pitched waves, That stroke my face and strip my calm; Their touch is static, sharp as glass, A whisper’s edge, a thunder’s lash. How can I soften to this roar, To chaos clawing at my core? Can silence bloom from sound so wild; A tender hush, A lullaby for a startled child?

Reflection

This poem came from a moment when I felt utterly overwhelmed by the world’s noise, every sound felt like a dagger, every vibration like a storm in my nervous system. Writing it was like reaching for air in a sea of overstimulation, trying to make sense of why something as ordinary as sound could feel so unbearable.

For much of my life, I thought my sensitivity was a weakness. I tried to toughen myself, to “tune out,” to adapt to a world that never seemed to quiet down. But in the act of writing this piece, I began to see that sensitivity is not a flaw; it is a gift. My system was not broken, it was finely tuned, designed to notice what others miss.

The lesson of this poem is that sensitivity is a teacher. The discomfort I felt was guiding me to listen more deeply, not just to external sounds, but to the vibrations of my own soul. Overwhelm wasn’t punishment, it was a sign that my body and spirit were asking for care, for boundaries, for reverence. I was being shown how to live in harmony with myself instead of trying to silence or override my needs.

All chapters