The Absent Resonance

Sunday, April 6, 2025

(on the insipid, the imposed, and the truly forgotten)

There are two kinds of absence.
The absence imposed by history —
and the absence chosen through disconnection.

We mourn the first.
But we must not confuse it with the second.

The world is full of people who are visible but hollow.
They are present in images, in sounds, in bodies —
but they do not resonate.
They do not activate.
They do not awaken anything in the past,
they do not reach toward the future,
and they do not touch the truth of the present.

These are not victims of oppression.
They are participants in self-erasure.
They have abandoned the responsibility to feel,
to refuse,
to think from within.
And in doing so,
they have become lightless performers of a system that feeds on emptiness.

This is especially true for the insipid feminine.
Not because these women lack capacity —
but because they have chosen comfort over clarity,
visibility over vibration,
acceptance over authenticity.
They sell themselves as “empowered,”
but they echo nothing.
Not the silenced voices of the past,
not the unborn beings of the future,
not even their own body’s cry for truth.

They are not oppressed.
They are silent by complicity.
And this is not cruelty.
This is accuracy.

Then there are the men.
The ones who fill space with dominance,
but no presence.
They occupy the world by narration,
by repetition,
by the illusion of certainty.
And yet,
their frequency is dull.
Their truth is borrowed.
Their inspiration is dead.
They inspire nothing
because they are not anchored in anything.

True resonance is not about being heard.
It is about activating connection across time, across pain, across refusal.
Only those who dare to live in alignment
with a truth that costs something —
only they create waves that remain.

The truly forgotten are not those who were erased.
They are those who never emitted anything.
And in this light,
we must stop confusing visibility with presence.
Some of the most celebrated people today
have never really existed.

But some of the quietest ones —
in exile, in hunger, in trembling solitude —
have sent out a resonance
that still moves us,
even if we never learned their names.