I've been blessed with the opportunity to savor a 10-day silent retreat spanning most of the past two weeks. Ten days of silence and solitude, spent in a rustic, but comfortable Hill Country cabin that a friend of a friend has built by hand back in the 1980's, on 18 acres of land located halfway between Blanco and Wimberley.
The owner calls it "God's Country" for a reason. Surrounded by an abundance of wildlife, trees, expansive horizons, a large vegetable garden and a splendid sense of complete isolation from other people, I feel myself being pulled, time and again, into the heart of Rumi's ancient invitation "to sink down and down in ever widening circles of being."
EMPTYING OUT
The absence of speech is an active presence here. More than a matter of being alone, of not using a phone, TV, or computer, of not hearing words or music from anyone or anything in my environment, the idea is to empty myself out. I'm fasting from all human-generated stimuli and consciously avoiding any input, other that what the rocks, trees, birds and breezes have to tell me. This is an opportunity to really listen and pay attention to all those random voices passing through my mind - and remember that I AM none of those voices.
But, mostly I'm here because I'm feeling tired and overwhelmed by the ongoing demands of my work, family and community. As much as I love the life that my wife and I have created for ourselves over the past 34 years together, I've often found myself feeling inadequate to the task(s) at hand in recent months. Various wise friends have counseled me to take some time off to recharge my batteries, so here I am, enjoying this sacred, quiet space of solitude.
DOING LESS
I'd considered spending this time at one of several retreats centers, where someone would have guided me through a specific schedule of meditation sessions and exercises designed to facilitate that process. But that would have involved more input, teachings and guidelines - when what I am seeking is "more Less" in my life for a while.
The first few days were tough, forcing me to face a harsh, unavoidable truth: much of the noise and busy-ness in my life is self-generated by the tireless committee of self-appointed critics and taskmasters that live in my head, ceaselessly squawking out their laundry list of criticisms, complaints and compliments. And out here, in this isolated, rural setting, their voices are louder than ever.
SENSING MORE
But gradually, day-by-day, the silence has become a warm cocoon, a known space, a way of encountering grace through my bodily senses, in a realm far beyond the dense confines of words.
I find myself feeling moved and engaged by little things, the way our son often did when he was a toddler: each rock, leaf, butterfly and bird's nest I encounter feels like a uniquely, personalized blessing, specifically conferred on me by a loving, gracious Father-Mother-Mystery-God, deeply present everywhere I turn.
So it takes me by surprise when a pickup truck pulls up alongside me and the driver asks for directions while I'm out walking along the quiet country roads in the area. Wanting to keep my 9-day streak of non-communication intact, I avoid eye contact, shrug my shoulders wordlessly in the universal signal for "I don't know," and keep on walking, hoping the guy will drive off and look for someone else to bother.
But, he won't take no for an answer; there's nobody else around to ask, and he's clearly feeling lost, anxious and hurried. When he repeats his request with an added note of urgency, good manners require me to reply, so I shrug again and mumble something like "Sorry; I'm just a visitor to this area myself," the nearly-forgotten sound of my voice sounding like a far-off, croaking frog.
ASKING QUESTIONS
Instead of taking the hint, the stranger re-states his need for assistance once again. Suddenly it occurs to me that while I know very little about local geography, (and often feel directionally-challenged under the best of circumstances), I do know how to get back to the cabin, and from there, remember the way back to the nearest town of Blanco. So that's what I tell him.
Bingo. "That's exactly where I'm going!" says the suddenly grinning face under the straw cowboy hat, before flashing a grateful smile, gunning the truck in reverse, then spinning around and zooming off into the sunset, leaving me puzzled and pondering what has just occurred.
I came out here to the middle of nowhere with the clear intention of avoiding human contact and maintaining silence and solitude, for ten days, and have been quite successful at doing so for nine. Why talk now?
"Well, why not?" answers a voice inside, which I instantly recognize as not being one of the regulars on my internal committee. "What's so important about you and your intentions that you can't be flexible enough to serve someone else? Why not just relax and enjoy the sensation of having been of assistance to a fellow traveler?"
LISTENING DEEPLY
Walking back to the cabin, it occurs to me that while I don't know much about this area, the little bit I did know was sufficient to help someone else in need. All I had to do was get over my own agenda, as well as my habitual, knee-jerk insistence that "I don't know enough" and simply offer up what I could.
And maybe, just maybe, that's a helpful hint for when I get back home to my desk and all the rest of those responsibilities that have felt so heavy lately. Rather than feel overwhelmed by the long list of things I don't know or haven't done, why not release my grip on my preferences and prejudices long enough to get in touch with whatever I do know and have done - and let that be enough?
Hmmm. Sounds good... We'll see how it goes. In the meantime, the sun has set in a blaze of glory, giving way to dusk, then darkness, as the Evening Star is joined by first one, then four, then twelve, then countless other stars, twinkling in the vast canopy overhead. How odd to realize that they've been there all along, all day, every day. I simply couldn't see them until the sun had set, when I could view them from a different angle, in a different light. Like so many other things in life, it's just a matter of time, space and perspective.
With gratitude and blessings,
Rudi
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