Silence is Sacred

When you are walking down a city street and fall on your left buttock after slipping down a blue ramp and get up as quickly as possible while looking for your ride.

When you realize you missed a meeting due to your own error after making a second trip through winding roads to La Paz.

When you are happy for the success of a first meeting rescheduled from earlier in the week after showing up with the right paperwork at the inicial meeting and the system finds there are two of you in their system. You must eliminate one in order to move on. Original citizenship documents are required to prove, you are you.

When you walk down the Malecon and marvel at the tents, stands, and festivities being prepared for Mardi Gras.

When you are happy to be there even if the water is blocked because you slept well the night before. 

Silence is sacred in the midst of all the sounds that are inherent with life happening.

In conversation with a dear friend once, he asked: Is there such thing as silence?

In the mountains, alone, hiking, I remember silence being the draw. Time to notice the only sounds I heard were my own foot steps. What other sounds did I hear? If all I can hear are my own foot steps, is that silence? Silence between the steps. Silence between the sounds.

In 2012, I started hiking in earnest under the relentless August sun. I had reached a point of no place to turn and nothing to do but walk and be with as much silence as I could organize my life around.

In silence, I learned to listen. 

I was hiking four to six days a week for hours at a time. As my legs got stronger, my clothes felt looser and my mind felt clearer. My heart soared.

In silence, I learned to befriend my own company - this time as a choice - not as a matter of life and death. I enjoy hanging out with myself. 

In a silent retreat one year later, I was told: This is not a vacation.

One week with all our activities and sittings carried out in silence interspersed with Dharma talks. I remember listening with discernment to two published authors and clearly thinking, I am the only author of my inner life. No one outside can tell me what is inside this mind, heart and soul.

I was asked before we settled into silence: Have you done this before? I replied that I had, I was still and silent for hours while on bed rest with Paloma during the last two months of my pregnancy. I had experienced stillness and silence and knew I could be still. 

During the retreat, I experienced deep joy and didn't know what to do with the energy except dive off my stand up paddle board into cold February water during our lunch breaks. Leaps of joy. And diving in. On my drive home and for days afterword, tears streamed down my face and I wondered if this was a normal part of reentry. I was happy to be home. And yet I felt a longing for streaming quiet.

This week, between drives to La Paz, my daughter's every changing busy schedule and my own full schedule, I felt the onset of temporary exhaustion settling in. A headache came and went. And wondered, how much time do I spend in silence during this phase in my life? Knowing that time in solitude and silence is where I replenish my energy sources, I create time every day to recharge. 

I sit in silence next to Javier every morning with our coffee. Until one of us shares. And silence is broken. I sit quietly in meditation. For my personal yoga practice, I silence my phone. Music for practice is rare. I savor silence. When Javier and I hike together, often we walk in silence. Until one of us shares. And the silence is broken. Until we are quiet again together. There is silence throughout the day. And starry night.

The last time I hiked alone was on our ranch. A quiet place with a roof, cobb walls, smooth counters, bright splashes of tile because I was tired of seeing all those painted squares in boxes and what better way to store them than adorned with patchwork walls. Trails and mountains and sky surround plus views of the sea and horizon beyond.

I listen for silence between the sounds of cars and trucks on the road down below. Leaves rustling in trees on a light windy afternoon. Dogs barking next door. The feeling of Ollie sitting on my legs and the sight of her looking over the screen at me, as if to say: What is that thing on your lap and wouldn't you rather hold me? The sounds of my finger tips on the Spanish keyboard. No spell check and the hope my spelling is correct. An ATV puttering by. Plants that need watering make their own sound as all living organisms do. 

And the memory of hiking through trees, over rocks, up, down and around so many trails in the desert. With the knowing of that silence living deep within me. Whenever I need that silence, all I have to do is pause and listen. It is always there. On city streets, in yoga studios, offices, planes, on my back porch, with me wherever I go. In the words of Rumi, "The quieter you become, the more you are able to hear."

In breathing, we connect. 

Words begin to fall away. 

First the spoken words as we close our eyes and focus within. 

Then, slowly and eventually, the internal words 

begin to find space between one another. 

And that is where we meet. 

In the space between the words, 

the shared rhythm of the breath, 

beating of the heart. 

A body and mind at rest. 

A soul at peace. 

(2016)