Silence Will Fall

Colors!

 I didn't find myself on the fields of Tranzalore or writing tick marks on my arm this weekend. I found myself in a particularly ordinary plot of land just north of Detroit...in silence...voluntarily. Kind of. There was a lot of music in my room: classical (Bach, Beethoven, Mozart), synth pop (Phantogram, Chvrches), and folk (Swell Season). There was also a lot of chatter: the chipmunks, birds, fish, and squirrels that frittered about, the water trickling from the fountain outside my window or rushing from the creek across the way, and the half chuckles that were squeezed out among family at the dinner table. There was also a lot of words: Boyle's testimony of kinship, Keegan's stories from the dead, and my own in letters written (6272 words so far in my laptop and many more in my journal).

I was coming into this weekend in contrasts. I spent the weekend before in noise. I met with mentors, co-workers, friends from middle school, high school, and college, a fellow JV, and family:  the connections that I have forged. Kind of all over the place though. So I consciously went into this weekend of silence trying to make sense of it all.

Meditation chair.

I don't have any amazing story of revelation. I don't have a funny mishap in silence like running across some deer. In fact, all I have is hours upon hours of sleep, a few tears shed while reading some stories, appreciation over the fullness that music can bring, meditation in a patch of trees, and writing either in my journal or on my laptop. (Oh, I do have one stupid story. I rolled my left ankle while I was running on the nature trail. Of course I decided to climb a tree after. Natural progression right? I've never climbed trees. I always thought it would be cool. I did. I fell. I rolled my ankle. Not my proudest or most silent moment. For the past 24 hours I've been hobbling along on a bad ankle. What does that teach me? Screw trees and don't fucking climb them). Simple little things that I would do anyway outside of this retreat.

Nothing special here.

Coming in, I didn't really expect anything to happen. I didn't expect a sudden fullness of being. I didn't expect an outburst of artistic creativity. I didn't expect to suddenly be in touch with the sublime. So far I haven't. Or maybe I have?

A few years back, I took a class called Aesthetics by Dr. Vaillancourt. I only remember a few things. We read Plato's Symposium and essays from Philippa Foot and Teilhard de Chardin. In my essays discussing themes, I found myself writing about the unity of love. I was an undergraduate student. I had to write SOMETHING down. I wasn't entirely sure if I understood or felt what I was writing. In hindsight that undergraduate class should've been called “Love 101.” Well, if that was my undergraduate introduction class, I think JVC has been my graduate level current concepts class and silent retreat is my dissertation.

No deer. Just chipmunks and squirrels and sun.

See, when I read Plato or Foot or de Chardin, I kept reading about love as a unifying force. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around loving existence. How is that possible when there's so much ego, selfishness, suffering, and disconnect in human interactions? Wasn't love supposed to be rare and reserved for specific people? If that's the case, I think we screwed up somewhere.

I just got lost.

I spent a lot of time this weekend doing what I said above, but I spent all of it thinking about people. I was thinking of the people that have left my life, of the

people that have yet to come into my life, and of the people that are in my life. I have shed tears over and with them. I have shared and cooked meals with and for them. I have laughed and danced because of them. I have held anger against them.

Back in middle school, my friend Casey used to get annoyed at me when I would use the word hate. I didn't really get it because it was just a word. Like any other word, its power is what we will it to be. At least I thought so. But, I don't think I realized how that word willed itself into me. It's parasitic. Using the word perpetuated a belief that is hard to shake. Casey was right! There should be no space in our vocabulary for the word “hate.” It's a waste of energy and time.

Better yet, the silence has taught me how beautiful inclusion can be. In the noise, I only had space for people that made me smile. I ignored the people that I criticized or judged, but that's because the noise only allows us to focus on easy joys. In the silence, I was forced to think of why I held anger towards some people. No answer came. Then I started to think of the stories that they carry and their suffering. See, I think all anybody is looking for is love. Along the way, it just got confused and muddled. Who am I to add to that confusion? 

I end the retreat with writing and green tea.

The better thing to do is to cut through the noise and listen.

Maybe that's what “spirituality” is about. Maybe the reason I'm so uncomfortable with using a god or God language is because I had such narrow preconceived notions of that language. Maybe I'm looking for something more infinite and inclusive. Maybe I'm learning how to put love to practice.