Silence - God's Language

“Silence is the language of God, all else is a poor translation”  Rumi

Though I can’t claim to know silence well, I do love what I’ve experienced in silence.  Still I had mixed feelings about going to Iona 'just to be in silence.'  So I was surprised to notice I felt a bit gypped when I discovered the retreat that was billed as a 9 day silent retreat would actually contain only 7 full days of silence.

I have a complicated relationship with words.  I love them.  I have some skill using them in speech and writing and I overuse them. Thereby robbing myself and others of soul nurturing silence

One reason I have come to love silence is because after a period of silence I am more likely to have the experience of ‘being spoken.’  While some of what my ego knows is useful, what my soul knows is essential.  This soul knowledge is more accessible during and after a period of intentional silence.  Words might come to me, maybe even through me, while writing, speaking or simply knowing.  What distinguishes them from my ordinary words is these words come to me without me ever having thought them.

My former teacher, advised her students to “speak only when it improves the silence.”  How does one discern what warrants saying in light of such a mandate?  How does one forgo the temptation to speak to impress, to earn respect, to correct, or any of the many ego-identified reasons we speak? While I continue to carry these questions and to be challenged by this mandate, I have discovered taking time away from the indiscriminate use of language is a step away from ego-identification.

Sister Fionn offered me the word 'S – ISLE – ENCE' as a way of helping me to understand my experience during my first Ceile De retreat on Iona.

As soon as my soles touched the soil of Iona, something of her essence began to enter me.  There aren’t words to describe that essence, and I have no cognitive understanding of how it changed me.  I feel rather certain I would have interrupted or even terminated the island’s transmission had I begun to analyze it.  This is where the profound gift of silence begins.  Without words there is no analysis. Without speaking there was no attempt to form a story of what was happening.   There wasn’t a temptation to devise a descriptive narrative that made my experience sound 'cool.'  Most of all there wasn’t the opportunity for me to hear the experiences of other participants and to compare them to my own.  I held my experiences within myself and they worked me there.

Clearly many of the experiences I had on the land would have been impossible if I had been speaking.   For example, I spent much of one afternoon alone in Anna of the poison’s cave.  When eventually I stepped out onto the beach I was so stunned to see four cows each with a calf on the edge of the beach gingerly lapping salt water that I let out a small gasp.  That sound alerted the cows to my presence.  They moved quickly away.  Without sound, my presence was non-threatening.

We broke silence the day before the retreat ended to allow us to ease our way back into the world of conversation. We were encouraged to speak gently and meaningfully. Not to just open the flood gates and let all the pent up words tumble out.  I heard: "Speak only when it improves the silence."

On that day a group of us walked out to Columba’s Bay.  For awhile the conversation around me was about films.  While I wasn’t involved in the conversation, I was engaged in my own inner dialog about the worthiness of the topic. I also began to notice my desire to say something so I would be noticed.

I chose instead to put a little physical distance between myself and the rest of the group.  Suddenly I realized I’d had no awareness of the more than human world around me from the moment conversation began.  Engaged as I had been with the words swirling in and around me, I had severed my conscious relationship with the land and the more than human world.  It was an ah-ha moment.  Without silence, I would have missed the connection with the earth which is so much more accessible in this sacred land in this time out of time.  The sacred space intentionally created by pilgrimage, practice, the guidance of a good teacher and sacred land stacked the odds for receiving the island’s gifts in our favor.  The addition of being freed from the complication of conversation only increased this likelihood.

On the Thursday of our retreat a proposal was made for the group to hire a sailboat to take us around the island so we could experience Iona from the sea.  Sister Fionn was clear she didn’t want to influence our choice, but she did want us to realize consciously that if we chose the sailing experience we were choosing to step away from silence for at least the duration of the cruise.  I felt torn.  I didn’t want to sacrifice any of the precious silent time remaining and I didn’t want to miss the sailing experience.  I thought I could have it all.  I decided to go and to remain in silence.

Sister Fionn was right.  It was impossible to remain in silence.  Somehow there is a difference between not speaking and being silent.  While I was able to mostly hold back words during the cruise, something shifted internally.  I became a tourist instead of a pilgrim.  If I’m offered a similar opportunity on a future retreat, it is likely I’ll make a different choice.  At least at this moment a pilgrim’s silence seems more valuable than a sightseeing delight.  

I look forward to the partial silence of the upcoming teaching retreat at Mt. Angel.  Reflection on my experiences with silence leads me to sense strong ties between much of my speaking and my persona.  It will be a blessing to notice who I am when I slip gently into the sweet silence.

“Silence is never merely the cessation of words… rather, it is the pause that holds together; indeed, it makes sense of all the words, both spoken and unspoken. Silence is the glue that connects our attitudes and our actions. Silence is fullness, not emptiness; it is not absence, but the awareness of a presence.”

Rev. Dr. John Chryssavgis