“He who doesn’t understand your silence will probably never understand your words.” Elbert Hubbard
Two hours of silence. As the time inched closer to begin my experiment, my ears felt they had to consume as much music as possible. Every song sounded sweeter, as I passed the restaurant, the live music made me pause. It is like a hunger, before I’ve even started.
My roommate asked me why I didn’t leave for my experiment. Because I wanted to eat, I told her, and that would require talking, communicating. And people just don’t get my…ideas when I explained them. No music, no movies, no interactions, no texting. Why are you doing this again? My boyfriend asks. Because it was on my bucket list. Because every once in a while, I still envy those nuns and monks away in their towers who have mastered silence. Because I want to know I can.
Thirty hours of silence, one of my goals to do when I am 30. Two hours into it and I laugh (silently) because I don’t feel like I’ve stopped talking—I sure haven’t stopped in my head. Song after song is being sung up there. I wonder how many hours until I am really silent? Is it even possible? I talk to myself a lot. And sing to myself even more. Now I am whispering/mouthing words as I write. Does that count? Silence is for listening. I am not listening yet.
Wikipedia says “Silence is the lack of audiblesound, the word silence can also refer to any absence of communication. Silence is also used as total communication, in reference to non-verbal communication and spiritual connection.”
I make noise when I wake up, rolling over and stretching. Noise is startling. I am hungry for noise. In three separate dreams, I spoke and felt the failure: in one was I was sleeping in the trash dump with the children and watching the worms climb back into my matrices, another was getting ready to return to Brazil and needing to say goodbye, and lastly, shopping and having lost my wallet.
I am beginning to wonder if the voices in my head will ever quit. I’m creative enough, full enough to keep feeding them for years, without new material. How long until they wind down? Silence and accomplishment don’t go together. I lay in my bed doing nothing, hoping my thoughts will dry out and leave me alone. I want silence within. How long has it been?
Silence is emptying of sound, thought, activity. Going through your brain and sorting everything into its place until you stop and say—good, it is time to rest. Silence is a part of simplicity, a cleansing return to basics, child-likeness. And I yearn for it. I know my great need for silence, as does God. He made all these rules for the Sabbath. He led by example by resting on the 7th day—one day of not creating.
I make lists so I can make peace with the nagging voices in my head that say I am going to forget something, I am going to let someone down, I am going to screw something up. I work hard to be organized to give myself space for the silence of simplicity. But often I get stopped on my way. I forget the end result and get tied up in the project. I get overwhelmed without space for silence.
I think a true silent retreat requires leaving, someplace alone and simple. And includes fasting: empty of people, food, things. I once put myself into solitary confinement. It was a point where I was broken, physically, mentally, emotionally. I just didn’t want to go on until I’d heard from God. It was a small room with a bed, chair, and bathroom. I brought paper, pencil, Bible, and change of clothes. I was left completely alone.
First I just slept until I could sleep no more. Time crept by, only noted by the big window that I sat next to and watched because it was the only thing to see. I fell into a routine of sitting, reading, writing, sleeping, praying, and showering. Whenever I got tired of one thing, I’d do another. It was healing. And I was starving. After a little less than 3 full days, I went out for food and returned to life. Sometimes you just need to know when you are broken and need to stop.
Sixteen hours of silence (including a good nights’ sleep) and I am starting to feel it. My mind slowing down. Enjoying the silence. Feeling less anxious and forgetting all the things I should be doing and just being. Silence and simplicity kiss and the whole world is right again.
“Silence is full of noise…but we have become deaf to this thundering silence. But still more difficult than getting rid of that surrounding din is the achievement of inner silence, a silence of the heart which goes beyond every man. It makes you wonder if the diversion we look for in the many things outside us might not be an attempt to avoid a confrontation with what is inside.”
“But whenever you do come upon this silence, it seems as though you have received a gift. The promise of this silence is that new life can be born. Then you realize you can do many things, but it isn’t necessary. It is the silence of the “poor in spirit” where you learn to see your life in its proper perspectives.”
“Deep silence leads us to suspect that, in the first place, prayer is acceptance. A man who prays is a man standing with his hands open to the world. He trusts that the world holds God’s secret within it, and he expects that secret to be shown to him. Praying means being constantly ready to let go of your certainty and to move on further than where you now are. This is why praying demands poverty, that is, the readiness to live a life in which you have nothing to lose so that you always begin afresh.” Henri Nouwen
I am going to sleep after 27 hours of silence. When I wake up, I will get dressed and begin my day as if silence never ruled. The awkward hanging up because I can’t answer my phone. The time I thought something funny and stopped mid-laugh. But I learned what I wanted to know: I can do silence. I can be comfortable in my own skin. And it takes a while to detox, but then things seem clearer and more focused, and I appreciate that. And somehow, silence always seems a little closer to God.
“He who does not know to be silent will not know how to speak.” Ausonius
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