Reflections on Silence, Dwelling in Silence

My Silence at the Monastery

I pray privately each morning, watching for a sunrise that never materializes ... fog and clouds obscure the sun's rising for the most part ... praying the psalms, lectio divina, journaling and simply watching nature through the window.  On Thursdays the monks pray their afternoon prayers privately so today I am on my own.  And the vastness of the silence opens before me.  The design of a contemplative retreat takes us on a descent into the depths of God, and ourselves in God, while our ascent happens on the back side.  I sense that today will take me to my deepest point as I enter into, not simply silence, but solitude.  There is both a simmering excitement and a tingle of trepidation in my soul as I seek the place of "dwelling" within God and God within me.

My word from last night's evening psalm emerges again this morning before I even open up the morning psalms.  Am I behind already?    

Trust in the Lord.  ~from Psalm 115:11

Perhaps this begs the question:  Do I trust in the Lord?  And yet, I wonder "What is trust?" and "What does trust look like in my life?" and How does that trust feel?

Even as I want to say that "I trust the Lord," I'm not exactly sure, it's so easy to say with a dismissive gesture but ever SO hard to do, I think.  I want to be control of my-self, of my life ... of those things that affect me.  And right now there are many things going on in my life that affect me.  I wonder and yes, I worry, but I know that I shouldn't ... I should "just trust in the Lord."  There is that dismissive gesture again.  Taking a deep breath ... I remember yesterday's word:  All day and into the night I will seek your face, O God.

Always we begin again.  ~A book on Benedictine living by John McQuiston

Begin again, I shall!  I read my morning psalms, 146 and 147 ...I'm hearing "God heals my broken heart and binds up my wounds."  Ok, dear God, you must tell me about my broken heart.  Have I a broken heart?  Have I not cried enough tears over my own brokenness?  How does my heart cry out over the brokenness of the world?  How shall I find the healing touch of wholeness in your love today?  

May you be drenched with the longing for peace, and make justice blossom on earth.

~Hildegard of Bingen

Ahhh, the journey from a broken heart to a longing for peace.  And not just a longing but a drenching with longing.  Such a beautiful word ... drenching.  And perhaps the silence I am experiencing in these woods is both a drenching in peace and a longing for peace that deepens my soul and widens my heart to embrace the world, aching for justice to blossom ... an unfolding of your presence, O God.

Spiritual silence demands a deep presence to oneself in each moment ... 

silence allows things to emerge in their own wholeness.

~Richard Rohr, Silent Compassion

I believe that silence can, if one is ready and willing, create an empty space in the soul along with a deep hunger to be filled ... with silence.   I am ready, O God.  I am willing, O God.  Make the empty space in my soul larger, fill me deeper and wider with the healing presence of the Silence that is you.  Make me whole, O God ... as whole as I can be ... so whole that I am only and always who I am.

I had a small "kitchenette" in my room which consisted of a small table, a mini-fridge and a small microwave.  There was a coffee pot, too, but I don't drink coffee. 

As I sit, eating my solitary lunch, looking out upon the squirrels at my window, I remember how good my food tastes in the silence.  Each morsel is a lovely delight and full of zest.  I'm not sure who enjoyed their lunch more, me or the squirrels! 

There were 3 of them, my squirrels, taking sweet moments to tease each other.  One was quite jumpy and almost anytime I moved, he ran to the tree and froze in this lovely defensive position.  One rarely showed himself at the edge of my viewing area.  He was larger and wiser, I suppose.  One didn't seem to mind my presence at all.  She came close and dug deep and came up with juicy orange tidbits that she enjoyed with gusto.

I really didn't mind bringing my own food and preparing a couple of simple meals and a few fruit and nut snacks.  When I encounter the silence, I find that I am not as hungry ... or since I am not so frantically moving through my life ... I consider each bite and notice when I am satisfied more likely. It is good, so good.

Breathe deep ... feel the sacred well that is your own breath.

Breathe deep ... Breathe deep ...Breathe deep.

I walk down the gravel road along the edge of the monastery

The horses and the cows, they didn't seem to care that much for my presence.  Hello, over here!  The horse snorted at me and cows just kept eating.

So I make my way back onto the grounds and walk around the tiny lake by the chapel. I sit in the silence and contemplate the flowers, the trees, and Mary, Mother of God.  She is a great protector and a fine companion for the silence.  She is strong and understands my heart.

As the day winds down, I read the Gospel passage from the Daily Office for Vespers.  It is a beautiful passage for a beautiful day, Matthew 28:16-20 and these words shimmer on the page.  I find such comfort and rest for my soul ... Remember I am with you always, to the end of the age." And I pray, returning to the word from my first day, the word that seems to be the foundation of my silent retreat.  "All day and into the night, I will seek your face, O God."  Is this a paradox?  I seek you with a desperate longing, God, my Love, but you are always with me.  As I rest in the silence, I realize I see you everywhere.  I see you in the ducks and the squirrels, the horses and the cows, the trees and the flowers.  I feel your love in the monks and hear you in their chants.  Silence quite simply makes your presence real to me.  As I lay my head upon the pillow, I know deep down in my soul that I see you in the mirror, too.  Deep.

Either you see God in all things

or very quickly you cannot see God anywhere.

~Richard Rohr, Silent Compassion 

Take this link for Part 4 of Reflections on Silence:  Lingering in Silence