When I go on meditation retreat, I often hear some version of these words: "You don't speak for three whole days? I couldn't do that." It's interesting that not talking is the deal breaker. There are many hard parts of a meditation retreat: judging mind, fear, doubt, and physical discomfort. On retreat, there's no place to hide. I get an honest look at myself and that's difficult territory. But not speaking, that's a gift.
Silence releases me from care-taking, performing, and focusing externally. Silence gives permission to look inward; to watch potential speech arise and discern my motivation. This gives me insight into daily conversation. Am I seeking approval? Am I merely filling space? Am I trying to be right? Or am I speaking truth in a kind, helpful way?
Karen Maezen Miller says "pure silence is the ultimate kindness." I think the word "pure" is important. We've all experienced the separating coldness of impure silence. Yet pure silence is a gift. It's the ultimate kindness. We're just not used to it. Silence isn't what our culture encourages or supports. But we can choose differently. In silence, we listen, we notice, we experience, no words necessary. There's beauty in the pure silence. There's wisdom, too.
Imagine someone you dearly love. Now imagine being with that person in silence: taking a walk or watching a sunset or eating a meal. Purposeful silence for a short period. Ease into the silence and see what happens.
Life can be incredibly difficult. Death, illness, trauma, loss. Sometimes there are no words. No words to describe the depth of our feelings. No words to provide solace. We might space fill with inadequate words or avoid the situation, yet there's another path: sit next to each other during the difficult. Hold hands, give hugs, share tears, sit in loving silence.
When the harshness of life overwhelms me, I fall back to relationships and connections. What else can we do but be there for each other? Celebrate the yays, actively listen, circle the wagons, share meals, cry and laugh together. When life is especially joyful or especially hard, there might not be words--presence is most important. Togetherness is most important. Like the shared experience of a gorgeous sunset or a new baby or raw grief. It's okay if there are no words. Being there--wholeheartedly--is enough.
I'm taking a wonderful online photography class, Photo Meditations, from Susannah Conway. During the first week, we're learning about and experimenting with composition. One of the (many) compositional elements is white space (or negative space). From Susannah: "The negative space gives the viewer’s eye a place to rest while supporting the main subject." A place to rest.
What about the white space in our daily lives? Where in our schedules do we allow rest, reflection, restoration, or simply space to breathe deeply? When I feel assaulted by life, it's a good reminder to make some white space. To truly allow for life to happen; for life to interrupt. When I feel overscheduled, I get annoyed when life happens. There's just not enough space & softness in which I can rest & release--both into the difficulties of life and the joys of life.
My mind is really active during the first week of the term. And my schedule is typically busy, too. But this weekend I have space. I'm grateful for the gentle reminder that space is needed--a place for my mind, body, & spirit to rest. In fact, I'll end here, so I can treat myself to a nap!
