We are bombarded on all sides by a vast number of messages we

Hear the solemn voice of James E. Faust, who in wisdom declared: “We are bombarded on all sides by a vast number of messages we don’t want or need. More information is generated in a single day than we can absorb in a lifetime. To fully enjoy life, all of us must find our own breathing space and peace of mind.” Though these words were spoken in the modern age, they bear the eternal weight of counsel, for they speak to the restless condition of the human heart when drowned in noise and distraction.

The meaning is clear: in an age overflowing with information, the mind risks becoming enslaved rather than enlightened. What was meant to serve us begins to suffocate us; what was meant to inform begins to confuse. To be constantly bombarded by voices, images, and demands is to live without stillness, to lose the inner sanctuary where wisdom is born. Faust calls us back to that sanctuary, reminding us that life is not measured by the quantity of what we consume, but by the quality of what we absorb and the serenity of the soul that receives it.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Faust’s role as a spiritual teacher and leader, one who saw how technology, media, and modern life can overwhelm the human spirit. In his time, he observed how the rise of constant messages—from television, newspapers, and the early flood of digital noise—distracted people from reflection, prayer, family, and peace. He understood that while knowledge is power, unmeasured information is a burden, and without discernment, the mind becomes a crowded marketplace with no room for truth to dwell.

History, too, gives witness to this truth. Consider the fall of Rome, not only from external enemies but from internal chaos. The citizens were drowned in endless distractions—spectacles in the arenas, political propaganda, and a constant appetite for novelty. They lost the ability to pause, to reflect, to cultivate virtue. In contrast, look to the sages—like Confucius in the East or Seneca in the West—who sought peace by withdrawing from the flood of voices, cultivating inner clarity amidst the noise of their times. Their wisdom remains because they guarded their breathing space.

The danger, if we ignore this teaching, is great. A life without silence becomes a life without meaning. We may accumulate facts, images, and constant chatter, yet lose the ability to distinguish what truly matters. The mind, once meant to be a clear mirror, becomes a clouded pool stirred by every passing wind. To live this way is to be forever restless, seeking satisfaction in the next message, but never finding the peace of mind that makes joy possible.

The lesson for us, children of the present, is this: we must learn the art of retreat, not in cowardice, but in strength. Each of us must carve out time and space where no messages intrude, where no bombardment of voices can reach. It may be a quiet walk in nature, an hour of prayer, a simple meal shared without distraction, or the sacred discipline of reading words that uplift rather than scatter. In these moments, we return to ourselves, and in returning to ourselves, we find life again.

Practical action flows like a river from this truth. Limit the information you consume; choose what nourishes, and let go of what clutters. Turn off the voices that drain you, and listen instead to the voice within. Begin each day not with bombardment, but with silence; end each day not with noise, but with reflection. In so doing, you create your own breathing space, and from that space springs clarity, strength, and joy.

Take this as a guiding star: the world will always flood you with messages, but you are not bound to drink from every stream. Choose your waters wisely, and you will find refreshment instead of drowning. Guard your peace of mind as a sacred treasure, for in it lies the power to live not as one overwhelmed, but as one truly free. In the stillness, you will rediscover the meaning of life, and in the meaning, you will taste its fullest joy.