This weekend I left my family and my computer behind and retreated with a bunch of wonderful women to LaSalle Manor. 40 hours without kids or responsibilities. 40 hours to be served, to share, to learn, to pray, to read, to be off the Internet, to sleep alone. Although it was all fabulous, one hour stood out. In the middle of Saturday afternoon, the entire group fasted from talking or engaging for one hour. We all agreed to total silence, and it was exquisite.
Sure, I could decide to be quiet at home. But there was something special about being in the midst of 45 other humans also being silent. I didn't wonder what other people were doing, if I was missing out on some fun activity or if I should be doing something else. I just shut my mouth and listened. For one incredible hour, I just was.
For part of the hour, I walked the path around the lake on the property and noticed everything. The way the sun sparkled on the snow. The creaking of the trees in the wind. The burn of the cold on my face. Every inhale, every exhale. For the other part of the hour, I tried to write down what I found in the silence. Words are inadequate, but poetry comes close.
I urge you to try it. Shut your mouth and your mind for one full hour. Take a walk and see what you find in the silence. I hope to do it often.
In the Silence
Cold settles into my bones,
burns my cheeks.
Ice cracks, trees moan, the frozen river flows.
I close my mouth and enter into nothing.
He comes to me:
You are loved.
Let go.
Walk with me until your heart bursts into flame.
For one hour I say no to distraction.
Breath, water, blood,
I need nothing more than this quiet.
No thing.
The sun tosses diamonds at my feet.
The river sings.
The trunks bow.
The unheard voice whispers:
You are alone
and never alone.
Do not worry.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Make space
for more of me.
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7 comments:
love this. love. you inspire me to slow down and choose my words closely....
I am certainly not as eloquent as you Amy, however I too had an awesome hour of silence. Here is what I wrote in my journal. The very first moment was filled with a flurry of activity by birds. The nice surprise was the woodpecker and the little chickadee. I loved watching them. The snow crunched under my feet and the windy day had the trees singing their own song as old branches creaked and groaned. I looked at the footprints of little animals and those of people. They reminded me of prevenient grace—God going before me. There was a pond, not quite frozen enough for ice skating to my left and a large creek to my right. I watched the creek change as I made my way through the woods. It went from quiet to rushing, much like life. There were shallow, clear spots where I could see the pebbles below, undisturbed. Clarity, peace, contentment. There were large rocks with fast moving waters rushing over them. Deeper waters where fast movement left its mark and the treasures below were unknown...Change, trust, and an eventual return to clarity, peace and contentment. I thought how much the creek reflected life and our journeys. And, I realized throughout the weekend that quieting down allows God to enter in, and for peace and contentment to enter in.
oh, you are eloquent, Lori. wonderful. thank you for sharing!!
Beautifully stated. I am quite disappointed that my hour was consumed with a nap. While at first I was uneasy about the pending 60 minutes of silence, I began to yearn for it.
I love your poetry Amy! Beautiful!
Reminds me of the richness of past silent retreats. He wasn't lying when he urged us, "Be still and KNOW that I am God."
Thanks Amy and Lori for reminding me of that glorious hour of silence. I too had an amazing experience.
My intentional silence illuminated the walk around the lake. The sounds still quiet by comparison to our loud modern world were magnified. I began following fresh deer tracks, then rabbit tracks, my steps mingling with theirs. And Oh the trees! From my youth playing in a forest preserve in the early 1960s in a suburb outside of Cleveland, I know that the trees are alive. Their unique shapes dance. Upon meeting my first human, I realized that I was walking the trail "upstream" or the opposite direction from everyone else. Kind of like my life lately...and then when I hit the rushing stream, it seemed to beacon me to run with it. I had never done that before. What a thrill. For 18 months now, this almost 57 year old woman is running for the first time in her life. Dancing ballet on point in my 20s was nothing compared to this. Into the silence, I will go again and again walking softly or running like the wind. YES!
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