Entering
Silence
“A
silence that is like a lake, a smooth and compact surface. Down
below, submerged, the words are waiting. And one must descend, go to
the bottom, be silent, and wait.”
Octavio
Paz (The Bow and the Lyre)
One of the best things
about being up at dawn is the absence of human noise. In the right
place, one can hear only birdsong, insects trilling. In silence, we
begin the day by reconnecting with ourselves, our environment, and
nature itself. Taking time for silence, especially inner silence, in
the early morning sets a calm tone for the rest of the day.
It's very hard to find
quiet in our modern world, especially if you are a city dweller. I
live in a residential neighborhood which, by seven o'clock, is
already full of leaf blowers and lawn mowers. The houses are close
enough that the central air conditioners are audible house to house.
In the near distance, trains blare their whistles every few minutes.
Even so, last night, over strains of music boiling up from the
taverns down the hill, I heard owls calling to one another. In that
moment, there was connection.
The other constant noise
in our world is talking. Talking and talking, so often saying nothing
of substance. “Hi, how are you? Fine, thank you, and you? I'm doing
just great. Have a nice day. You, as well.” We have an endless
chain of rote “non-communication” that says nothing and connects
us with no one. In the meantime, we have left behind other more
potent forms of communication, like eye-contact, a smile, a touch. I
like, at least in theory, the Quaker practice of being silent until
spirit moves you to speak.
Creating for oneself
islands of silence—taking vacations from talking—may be the best
mental and spiritual health tonics of all. Taking time everyday for
inner silence, whether through meditation, or listening to nature,
reconnects body and soul. It might be a good Sabbath practice.
In the Spirit,
Jane
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