Silence

Under the Bodhi Tree, Bodh Gaya, India

Last week, I went to a local Buddhist temple for a yoga class being taught there.  When I showed up, not a single person was there.  The doors were unlocked, so I went inside, slipped off my shoes and entered the quiet sanctuary.  I sat down on a zafu (zen pillow) and faced the Buddha and let my breath quiet and deepen.  After about 15 minutes, I realized no one was showing up for the yoga class and wondered if I had gotten the time wrong or if just, with the holidays, the class had been canceled. 

I thought about leaving, but then realized I had an entire Buddhist sanctuary to myself and decided to utilize it.  The sign on the door for their daily meditation instructed you to quietly light the incense, ring the bell and begin your practice.  And so I did.   I lit the incense and candle in front of the serene, wooden Buddha, sitting in meditation with a joyful smile across his face.  I rang the bell and then rolled out my yoga mat across the wooden floors.

As I moved through my practice, I became pleasantly aware of that all I could hear was my ujaayi breathing (deep breathing through the nose).  I realized that it's very rare, if ever, that I practice yoga in complete silence.  I usually have music, or a guided DVD, or the sounds of the lake and birds if I'm outside at my dock, or even if I attempt silence consciously during my indoor practice, it is always interrupted by the barks and chaos of a puppy chasing some very vocal cats across my mat.

Here, the muffled quiet of the sanctuary reminded me of a field covered by a thick blanket of snow, that beautiful silence that we are so unaccustomed to.

In this silence, I could hear the tick tick ping of the heaters coming on and off, the creaks of the old pipes and the occasional whoosh of a car in the distance.  But mostly, I just heard my breath, in and out, like ocean waves, in this warm room, full of sunlight.   Each time I came up into a pose, I saw the Buddha and couldn't help but smile back at his own contagious grin.

There is a reason why silent retreats are so popular at centers and ashrams.  In an overly verbally stimulted world, we are constantly assaulted with sound and stimulation.  Gandhi used to take a day a week to be in silence.  I often think of doing this (how incredible would that be?) but is this even possible in our day to day world?

In the film (and book), Eat, Pray, Love, Liz Gilbert attempts to take a vow of silence at her ashram, but is thwarted by an appointment to be "Miss Suzie Creamcheese" and help other guests acclimate to the ashram environment.  Sometimes, even with the good intention to quiet ourselves and listen more, life takes precedence.

At the end of my practice, I felt a powerful sensation of strength and quietness.  I sat on a zafu in front of the Buddha, a tiny transplant branch of the Bodhi tree from India to my left. (Buddha became enlightened under this Bodhi tree 2500 years ago).  I had to smile because it was under the massive, outstretched Bodhi Tree, on the other side of the world in India, in a sea of chanting Tibetan monks that I had an overwhelming experience of intense gratitude and sheer wonder of life and God and well...everything.  Now, 8 years later and only 12 minutes from my house, I was having a similar feeling, under this little bodhi tree branch, in the silence of this sanctuary, by myself.

The Tao Te Ching says that there's no need to travel all over the world seeking, that we can find God without every stepping outside of our door, that God is within us all the time.  Very Wizard of Oz.   

This week, if you can, take a half hour, or even just a few minutes, to be in silence.  Unplug, disconnect, close the door and just be.  See how you feel.

I'll leave you with this great clip sent to me by a wonderful student this week that fits perfectly with our topic.  John Cage, in a very Zen like philosophy, said that he wanted the audience to appreciate the music and sounds that came out of silence.  So, he created this piece so that each time it was "played," the experience (what the audience heard) would be different and unique and this would be the music, the creation.   What do you think?

Question of the week:   Have you ever had an positive experience because of taking time for silence?  When has silence benefitted you in your daily or spiritual life?

Banjo enjoys the beauty of silence