This might be hypocritical on my part. I have spent the better part of the last week working on my eleventh book (Jane and my sixth book together). Words, words, words. I blog. More words. I teach. Many more words. I read a lot. Too many words.
It may be that because my life contains so many words that I have grown to appreciate the retreat into silence.
It was not always so. My first day of silence (in 1983 at theological college) was a disaster. We were to keep silence from wakening until after prayers at 8:30 in the evening. I managed only a couple of hours before heading into Manchester city center to be around noise. I couldn't bear the silence. To be more accurate, I couldn't bear the noise on the inside. The noises outside us distract us from what's going on inside. When outside becomes silent the inner noise can be disturbing and deafening. At least, I found it to be so in 1983. It is what our Buddhist friends call "monkey mind." To be silent outwardly shows just what a monkey mind we have—unless through long training you have developed "horse mind."
Two recent experiences showed me how difficult silence is for people. Sadly, a senior person in an organization passed. The person in charge of a meeting decided to have "two minutes silence" out of respect for the one who had died. We began the silence. I had passed through two breath cycles and the silence was terminated—barely enough time to enter. I suspect most folk present did not enter silence. Silence is quite uncomfortable, if you are not used to it.
Then, a famous footballer died. At the beginning of the game the referee signaled for one minute's silence. The crowd of over 50,000 were silent—for all of ten seconds. Then a few in the crowd began to clap.Others joined in. From silence to 50,000 clapping in a few seconds. They clapped, of course, out of appreciation of the deceased footballer, which was nice. But silence? Ten seconds was enough!
I have found it strange, too, that even in settings where we choose to be silent, the leader of the silence keeps talking! Guided meditation it may well be, but silence?
Rummaging around on the net I found a remarkable BBC documentary on silence.
You can watch it here:
The Big Silence in Twelve Parts
The documentary is about five people who agree to an eight day silent retreat at a Jesuit retreat center. Of the five, only one has a "faith commitment." It seems faith commitment in this context was "beliefs about" rather than "trust in." In preparation the five do some silence in the Benedictine tradition at a monastery for a day, followed some time later by the eight days with the Jesuits.
It's a fascinating fly on the wall look at what silence might mean. I'll say no more about the people's experiences (spoilers). Suffice it to say it is worth a watch.
However, the documentary gave me a couple of points to ponder. At the Jesuit center, during the silence the participants were not allowed to do some things, and allowed to do others. On the forbidden list: talking to each other, texting, using the internet, phoning friends, and listening to music. On the OK list: walking, painting and drawing, reading, writing, and meditation. In the context the forbidden list was "unsilence," while the OK list was "silence." Some on each list seemed to me not quite to fit the category—especially if silence, as I suggested at the beginning of this blog, is the abandonment of words, that is concepts, (and probably images).
Music, for instance, though clearly not "silent" can be a gateway to silence in profound ways (that is, music without words). Reading (on the silence list) is about words that conjure images. Reading a good story is far from silent! Reading fills your mind. Even meditative reading often involves playing with an idea, ruminating on it, letting it develop, and following it down strange pathways. As a writer, it seems clear to me that writing is far from a silent exercise. Writing is dialogue between the writer and the writing and the subject of the writing. Words and more words, with occasional silences.
So, I'm not sure that the two lists demarcate silence from unsilence. The value of something like this exercise is to move from busyness to quietness and rest. Those who live frantic lives would find the shift to quietness quite disturbing at first, then profoundly beneficial (as did the participants in the BBC documentary ... spoiler).
Quietness is essential. Let's have much more quietness. But quietness is not silence. Quietness can prepare us for silence, just as reducing speed gradually prepares us to stop.
What then of silence? Silence is the cloud of unknowing. Silence is beyond. Silence is rare.
Shhhh!
+Ab. Andy