The Two-Headed Snake

Read the entire journal entry on Substack.

The Two Headed Snake by Samantha Moses

Why some experiences need silence before words

Read on Substack

On a week-long silent retreat in the Strathbogie Ranges, I had an experience that stayed with me long after I returned home.

One afternoon I went for a walk to revisit a koala I had stumbled upon earlier that day. But this time the environment felt different. The conditions had changed. The walk felt eerie instead of inviting, yet despite my unease, I continued.

Then there was a thud.

About twenty metres behind me was what looked like a two-headed snake convulsing and thumping against the ground. In fact, it was two snakes braided together — a common behaviour amongst males during mating season.

It was such an aggressive sighting. My heart was racing.

I waited until they finished their business and disappeared back into the scrub. Then I closed my eyes and ran for my life down the steep hill I had climbed.

It wasn’t until I returned to the retreat that I realised: fuck, I’m in silence and I can’t share this with anyone.

Normally I would have told someone immediately, but this time I had no choice but to remain with the experience and sit inside the uncomfortable feelings it stirred in me. It took hours for my nervous system to settle.

The insight felt clear: too often we interrupt experiences of joy, fear, awe, or discomfort by sharing them too quickly. In doing so, we cut short the depth of the experience itself. We move away from embodiment and into narration.

We’ve lost the skill of simply being present. In an increasingly busy world, our attention is constantly being pulled elsewhere, and it feels more important than ever to protect it.

So why share this story, and what does it have to do with my art practice?