It's hard to be silent for a whole week

Just kidding, no it isn't.

I go on week-long silent retreats every year. (See also Friday’s NFAUQ.)

Fine, I don’t always go. Sometimes I haul my cookies to a retreat center; sometimes I stay home when Husband and Teen travel.

The first question most folks ask is: Isn’t it hard not to talk for a whole week?

The short answer is: No. It’s not hard. It’s wonderful.

The longer answer is it’s not hard because I make my own rules.

I don’t observe the Noble Silence of Buddhist Vipassana meditation.

No disrespect to tradition, but I’m un-ruly in many ways, foremost is:

I don’t follow rules about how to follow the inner light.

Just like I dig unprogrammed silent Quaker worship, I dig my unprogrammed silent retreats.

I made my own rules.

During silent retreats, I DO NOT:

• speak (duh)

• use social media

• be social or get in situations where anyone speaks to me

• listen to anything (no podcasts, no music)

• watch tv or movies

• ingest any news

• drive or ride a bike

• use a computer or iPad

• work (duh)

• buy anything or engage in commerce

• clean or do housework if I’m home

• make art, do projects, or otherwise be “productive”

• get up to any sex shenanigans, solo or partnered

• smoke, drink, or take any intoxicants

… those are all rules I share with Noble Silence.

However,

During silent retreats, I DO:

• Read. I read nonfiction books about mysticisms, religions, peace, and biographies of folks engaged in the above.

• Exercise - but not as exercise per se. Exercise as moving meditation. T’ai chi, gentle yoga, walks taken at a mosey.

• Some texting with Husband and Teen. Mostly to hear that they have not had any bike crashes. **knocks wood**

  • Also some “Hey. How ya goin, old mate?” texts. I’m not made of wood, people. I miss my fam when we’re apart.

• Plan ahead if I’m retreating at home.

  • Get the house shipshape and Bristol fashion. I pre-clean, launder, neaten, and tidy. The point is for the domicile to feel restful. No housework during retreat.

  • Pre-plan and pre-cook (vegetarian) meals. The goal here isn’t a strict regime. The goal is making sure I eat nourishing meals, not just tortilla chips all day. Also not to spend mental energy pondering what I’m in the mood to eat.

  • Drape a scarf over the TV, clocks, electronics. This helps set a chill vibe. Visual reminders that say: “Retreat time, motherfucker.”

• Meet people’s eyes and smile. On retreat I do not wear a sign that says “I’m being silent,” and I don’t like not being friendly.

  • If I’m home and walking where people know me, I wear earbuds with no sound on. Get the hint?

• Check email - to delete, delete, delete. Somehow I accrue 8,000 emails a day. 99% of them just need deleting. I weed emails so I’m not overwhelmed when I emerge from retreat.

• Wrap up with gratitude. The first words I speak after a week of silence are: “Thank you.”

• Resurface slowly. I don’t go straight from retreat to pub crawl.

See? I don’t mind following rules when they make sense.

These rules make sense (for me) because they serve two important purposes:

1. Settling in.

It takes a few hours to settle in. IRL I listen to audiobooks and podcasts all the time, so silence is a big change.

The first stage is like letting a shaken snow globe settle.

Cherry Blossom Snow Globe from National Gallery of Art

It takes a little while for all those snow/glitter flakes to fall.

And then … it takes a few days to really settle.

This second stage is more like a sediment jar.

Did you ever do that experiment in science?

You fill a glass jar with water, sand, rocks, clay, and silt. You cap it. You let it sit for a few days. The point is to observe how the sediments settle.

Me when I start retreat. (photo from Raising Lifelong Learners)

I start retreat like a shaken sediment jar, all muddy and mixed up.

It takes 2 or 3 days before my layers (I contain multitudes, natch) settle and become still.

Eventually there’s just water on top.

Ahh. A few days later. (photo from Raising Lifelong Learners)

The silence is what creates the stillness.

I know I’m fully settled when I start noticing my thoughts — and I can just notice. Not react, not engage, just notice.

This reliably happens on day two or three of silence. It’s always a lovely little surprise, because I’m colossally bad at this IRL.

I also start to re-remember: I am not my thoughts.

My thoughts? They’re goldfish swimming in a bowl.

I am not the goldfish. I am the bowl. Or … the clear water? I am the walrus?

Oh, you get the idea. Let’s not get pedantic now. Not while I’ve got three similes and a couple of metaphors going at once.

Because then something else wonderful happens:

2. Time goes wonky.

Time starts to move differently.

It slows down and fills up.

It does not speed up. It fills up. Becomes fuller.

Photo by frame harirak on Unsplash

The days pass weirdly quickly. Reading, yes. But also - becoming absorbed in watching a grasshopper. Listening to leaves stirring in the wind. Staring at rain.

Sitting. Breathing. Just being.

Time goes wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.

I don’t know how it happens. I’m not a metaphysician. I just know that it happens.

I settle into the silence

and

whoosh

my perception

of

time

dissolves

and

resets.

The same, but different.

Huh. Like me, when I emerge from silent retreat:

Reset.

The same, but different.

XOXO

P.S. I’m lining up dispatches so you’ll still receive NFAUQ while I’m away. Yay!