Dear friends,
Winter has arrived. A walk in the crisp, cold air is refreshing, but also good to have warm rooms in the house. I spent most of this Silent Sunday in a warm room with Debussy music. I put papers and books in their proper places in a totally new and empty space; shelves which provides me with a whole new system, just right for where I am now in my life!
In the past two weeks I have sorted and discarded, and it gave me a great sense of clear and clean space for a new season. My room has a much better balance of positive and negative space now, also with a good chair and place for just having tea, and I no longer call it my office, just my room. Silence and pauses and negative space, in form and time, they all help provide that healthy balance.
Kari

November 14, 2010

Superhero Swami In Silence

On our cherished monthly day in October  I allowed myself to read about a nice Jewish boy from Chicago who became a swami. Only on a day like this, the 24 hours protected from the mundane in a jewel box of  what is now my sacred monthly space, would I have the patience to approach such a forbidding book – sprinkled as it was with garish, baroque images of unfamiliar deities and photos of entranced Indian men and (a few) women loosely draped in white or orange ‘cult’ costumes,  among images of young American hippies in the 1960s with matted hair and silly grins.

But the backstory about this book was different enough that I gave it a go.  A good friend, a funny, light and holy modern man, Joshua Greene, had given it to me a week earlier, when I’d told him about my personal quest to cross the threshold into a more meaningful next decade.  ”Read this,” he said.  ”Radhanath’s a good guy; and it’s a great story.”  Thanks to the In Silence Together practice you wonderful women have given me, I put my Western cultural snobbery on hold for a day, and found god in this book.

The Journey Home, by Radhanath Swami (earlier known as Richard Slavin) is the episodic story of an American action hero hellbent on finding god. Sure there’s an inner journey eloquently told here, but the physical danger, geopolitical intrigues, personal confrontations, and otherwise overwhelming odds this peaceful Odysseus faces on his way ‘home’ are as breathtaking as any James Bond has mastered.  I can’t wait for the movie!

At the end of the day:  Radanath’s burning longing for god reignited mine. His discovery of god is mine, too.  One that I periodically glimpse:  the merging of the sweetness of utter love and compassion with day to day effectiveness in the world.

A few days later, I had the extraordinary experience of meeting and speaking with Radhanath Swami at the Jivamukti Yoga Center in Greenwich Village.  I saw the integration in action: His eyes had that burning coal look of the mystic – but his speech the frank, practical focus of a middle-aged American.  It has long been my dream to lead with love as the filter of my moment to moment choices. I have seen it in action in a few people: Radanath Swami is one.  He is the superhero I discovered on last month’s day of silence.  Thank you again, women In Silence Together.   Love, Elsie 
 

On our cherished monthly day in October  I allowed myself to read about a nice Jewish boy from Chicago who became a swami. Only on a day like this, the 24 hours protected from the mundane in a jewel box of  what is now my sacred monthly space, would I have the patience to approach such a forbidding book – sprinkled as it was with garish, baroque images of unfamiliar deities and photos of entranced Indian men and (a few) women loosely draped in white or orange ‘cult’ costumes,  among images of young American hippies in the 1960s with matted hair and silly grins.

But the backstory about this book was different enough that I gave it a go.  A good friend, a funny, light and holy modern man, Joshua Greene, had given it to me a week earlier, when I’d told him about my personal quest to cross the threshold into a more meaningful next decade.  ”Read this,” he said.  ”Radhanath’s a good guy; and it’s a great story.”  Thanks to the In Silence Together practice you wonderful women have given me, I put my Western cultural snobbery on hold for a day, and found  god in this book.

The Journey Home, by Radhanath Swami (earlier known as Richard Slavin) is the episodic story of an American action hero hellbent on finding god. Sure there’s an inner journey eloquently told here, but the physical danger, geopolitical intrigues, personal confrontations, and otherwise overwhelming odds this peaceful Odysseus faces on his way ‘home’ are as breathtaking as any James Bond has mastered.  I can’t wait for the movie!

At the end of the day:  Radanath’s burning longing for god reignited mine. His discovery of god is mine, too.  One that I periodically glimpse:  the merging of the sweetness of utter love and compassion with day to day effectiveness in the world.

A few days later, I had the extraordinary experience of meeting and speaking with Radhanath Swami at the Jivamukti Yoga Center in Greenwich Village.  I saw the integration in action: His eyes had that burning coal look of the mystic – but his speech the frank, practical focus of a middle-aged American.  It has long been my dream to lead with love as the filter of my moment to moment choices. I have seen it in action in a few people: Radanath Swami is one.  He is the superhero I discovered on last month’s day of silence.  Thank you again, women In Silence Together.   Love, Elsie

Moving toward another Day of Silence, I realized that the family reunion beginning that Sunday was not a good time for being still. But it would be good for everybody to get a touch of it, if there was a way I could do that…… I decided I just had to trust the life-process to offer some kind of opportunity for sharing from a still heart…..

Before I left, I went for a morning hike in the woods, feeling the earth with each step. The rhythm of walking seemed to move me along into a state of BEING. I think of that as not working things out, but letting life show me what I need to do, in the situation as it is….. “Be with me, Lord,” I quietly said as I returned to my house,”so that I bring the right things for my trip.”

As I was done packing, I thought of the family-reunion 10 years ago, five days along the coast on a ship to Northern Norway. It is a group of cousins of my husband, who have gotten together every few years. Then I thought of the journal I wrote during that particular trip, which I had recently come accross in a folder. I packed it, perhaps it might be useful.

On the train I read through the journal. I had descriptions of life’s beauty and wonder, of midnight sun and majestic mountains, of shared experience close, and visions of magical distant horizons. I marked sections in my text I could possibly share, and a perfect opportunity emerged as one of the cousins told a particular story she remembered from that trip. I asked if they would like to hear something from my trip-journal, and it was most welcome.

After talking and laughing, and sharing a wonderful meal, a day of silence was honored as I quietly read. My words seemed to touch them both as memories as well as something of a deeper meaning. The atmosphere of the evening initiated a special three days together. I believe it also helped “my nerves” as I was asked to drive one of the cars for our city-sightseeing on Monday. I always try to avoid city-traffic after living more than 20 years in a rural area now.

That was my participation this month, in our global community pulse,
Kari

Thank you very much for the generous offer to join this community. The space you are creating is beautiful and fertile.

With others in Europe, we have been wondering how to amplify muted voices in the world so those who have been forced to silence could express themselves if they wanted to. We evolved the word amplify to connect to make sure our work would not add to the current cacophony. I love the feeling of chosen silence you suggest to embrace. Chosen silence is likely to be the best practice to truly listen to muted voices in ourselves and in others.

I sense the energy and strength of holding silence visibly and collectively. This gives our silence a further depth, a deeper purpose.

Thank you for the idea. Thank you for the beautiful invitation and platform. I will be in silence with you regularly, though most likely not on the Sundays (I have 3 young children). I wonder if the idea of keeping a chain of silence at our respective times could be explored? Maybe we could sign up to hold silence at different times for each other and for the world? I would love to know that even when I am loud and vocal, others are in a chosen silence for me and the world, to stay connected to this silence and community at all times…

With love…..Laure

This is a deep heartfelt request. On Tuesday this week, Kacy died. She was 3 years old. The tragedy of child abuse continues in our community. I have an idea that came from something my friend, Cher Everhart, said. I posted the article about Kacy’s death on FaceBook and Cher’s response was “Heartbreaking & speechless, how could this happen without someone hearing something. It’s only because when I was young, our neighbor kid was abused. My family could hear it. Mom would call the police and they would take their time getting there. If they couldn’t “hear” anything. They did nothing. Then the next day, the neighbor kid would come over to our home, batter and bruised. But no one would do anything because they refused to “hear” it. Even as a young kid, I could not understand why adults let this happen to her.”

Cher’s comment has spurred me and CAN to action. On Monday at 4:00 pm we will gather in Vogel Plaza and beginning at 4:15 pm we will begin listening. This means we will be silent for one hour from 4:15 to 5:15. We will be actively listening to what’s going on around us. The effort will be to increase our ability to stop, to listen, to notice what is going on around us. Maybe by just listening, others will too and we can only imagine what can change.

Please join me, members of CAN and anyone willing to come, to stand, to listen. Wear blue, any shade. Blue is the color of Child Abuse Awareness month and the color for Foster Care Awareness month. Please come, please bring your friends. Please listen. See you at Vogel Plaza Monday, June 21 at 4:00 pm.

 I just had to tell you how happy I am that she lent me Anne LeClaire’s book which also had the Invitation to Silence letter in it.   She knew it would be just the thing for me !     and she was right, I immediately pegged a day of silence for myself, and warned my whole family of what I was doing, and ofcourse couldn’t wait for that day to come, it was like knowing I was going on holiday!     Then the day came and it was as if I was on holiday, I have never felt such relief as I did that day of not having to talk to anyone, answer the phone etc etc.     I did go into the Secret Garden as Anne describes in the book ( I know the movie well)    and I also found it overgrown and full of “weeds” etc. and so had wonderful day weeding, exploring and just revelling in the solitude and peace of it. I will definitely be having silent days on a regular basis and look forward to spending time  and tending my “Inner Garden”

Each time a silent Sunday comes around,I am sustained anew by the thought of so many women embracing silence and being embraced by it. I am reminded of the things that connect us truly and that nurture us and of the power of common intent. Thank you all for adding your “voice” for silence to the world.

I invite you, too, to share my reflections on silence, life, and writing on my blog, “Dispatch From Cape Cod,” which appears on my website, www.anneleclaire.com.
Wishing you all peace and joy below the noise.
Anne

I am starting and enjoying my first day of silence.

Not perhaps, the first ever in my life (I remember a 3-day solo in Outward Bound during college) but certainly the first in years and, most importantly, since marriage and children.

And I guess I am curious how others experience this day in the midst of family/community. Half my children are gone (two are out of town today) so it is a smaller household here. But it is so different — for them and for me — not to be speaking. I hear the voices in my head and the voice I would have used with others. Sometimes caring (do you feel better this morning, how was your evening?), sometimes instructive (do this, do that), sometimes critical (don’t put that there), sometimes questioning (so you lied to me last night but then decided to tell me the truth?).

Part of me is relieved and curious and filled up with the listening. Part of me is flailing by not being able to express myself. And there does seem to be much more time, space, perspective.

And I’ve just started…Ellen

Greetings all! I admit to not being at all blog savvy — and judging from the lingering “loading” indicators on my screen suspect that my older Mac may not be either. Notwithstanding — deepest thanks to those who have had a hand in organizing this forum.

As I write the Pacific is roaring, as she so often does these days; and yet of all the places I have spent any appreciable time, it is the ocean I most equate as an ideal setting for the essences of stillness and silence I crave — yet she is anything but! I am learning to hear the subtleties carried on the waves: portents of weather, the tension of moon and tide, moods of earth, of people…and three days before the Haitian earthquake, she signaled an upcoming change, though I did not know how to fully translate it at the time. There is a great coherence to her sound that makes all the difference and that speaks to my soul’s longing.

I made a miscalculation in January, thinking our shared Silent Sunday to be the 24th instead of the 31st — and came to the end of the day wondering where everyone was! What I so love of the growing tangibility of our shared practice is the PERMISSION, both given and received, it provides to step away from custom and outer demands/controls on behavior and step into a way that honors the deep urging of soul. I cannot really explain why that word, “permission”, stands out so strongly right now, but to me it is significant. Deepest thanks to all! — Elna (North Oregon coast)