I’ve heard it said that silence is God’s favorite language.  Sort of a clever saying . . . but if you really think about it, what does it mean?

           I’ve taken myself to silent retreats in a variety of ways over the last few years.  I’ve gone to national parks to hike alone, stay alone and eat alone.  I’ve gone to a retreat center where everyone agreed to “keep silence” together.  And I’ve gone to a little place called The Quiet House on a ranch in West Texas where there literally is no sound unless I or some creature makes it.  Something rests in me when I reduce the stimulus to the simple beauty and fascination of nature.  When I stop my own voice, I can listen to what my heart knows is true.  

          I remember the first meditation retreat I attended.  It was a 5 day event and I knew very little of what “sitting” was all about. The first evening we “sat” together in a circle – some on the floor and some in chairs.  The leader asked us to keep the same spots for the entire 5 days.  I thought to myself, “How silly is that?  What possible difference could it make?” 

          The second day we were to have a choice between 3 consecutive “sits” or one “sit” followed by some basic instruction on meditation.  Well, my choice was easy – instruction !  However, when we arrived for the morning “sit”,  the leader announced that this was such a “good group”  (what did that mean?) that we could all stay for the 3 consecutive “sits”.  I panicked . . .  and quietly inside I screamed, “That is a whole hour !  I can’t do that !” 

          I was surprised, though, by two things.  First, we had a brief meditative walk between each “sit”, so we got to get up and move – albeit slowly.  And secondly, I did it  . . . and I liked it.

          I learned other things that week, too.  I learned that I grew to look forward to the shuffling and settling of each individual each day.  I grew acutely aware of each person’s level of comfort.  And on the last day the man who was sitting next to me and to whom I had not spoken, said, with a soft smile, “How am I going to do this tomorrow when you aren’t there?”

           So, maybe when we stop the noise – both outside and inside – we open the way to learn a new kind of communication.  Maybe we learn to pay attention to ourselves and to each other in a new way.  I know that when our son died, I suddenly had to learn that.  The old ways are no longer available to me and I need to pay attention in a new way, to be aware in a new way and to hear in a new way.  Silence is helping.

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Janie Cook is a retired teacher who lives in Austin, Texas with her husband, Gareth. She shares her days with family and friends (a precious privilege), facilitates a bereaved parents’ support group and enjoys digging in the Texas Hill Country dirt & learning about natural gardening.
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