LISTENING BELOW THE NOISE
I’ve just finished reading Anne LeClaire’s
thought-provoking book, Listening Below the Noise, which journals
her unusual journey into silence. And why do I say, “unusual”?
Because at a time when she least expected it, Anne felt guided to
not speak for an entire day. I don’t know about you, but whenever
I’ve tried to have a day of “retreat” here at home,
the phone rings, people appear at my door, and the idea of withdrawing
from the world, even for a short time, fades from view. For that idea
to really bloom, I’m guessing it must take a deeper commitment,
one where “options” are not allowed. Anne made that commitment,
and she was surprised to see what she learned.
To begin with, she never dreamed the difference having
a day of silence would make, not only in her life, but in the lives
of those her life touched. Making time to turn away from the hubbub
of daily living, making time to re-connect with herself gave her the
opportunity to work through long-buried issues from the past and find
some degree peace with them. And if not peace, then at least acceptance
and understanding, which often are the precursor of the deep inward
relief we hunger for so greatly.
I could certainly relate to Anne’s experience.
Having committed to daily meditation long ago, I understood what she
was talking about. Like Anne, I had no idea the difference “going
into the Silence” would make in my life. Simply put, it made
all the difference. You see, at our deepest levels, we are silent.
Our spirit is silent. But until we pay attention, until we go within,
we will never know that. Nor will we know the innate joy of the spirit.
But how can we know what we are, or even who we are, when our attention
is always turned outward? Questions such as these drew Anne inward,
and that journey rewarded her in ways she never expected.
This decision was not welcomed by her family. It
was “inconvenient” not to be able to talk to her, to ask
her questions about pressing issues that wanted an answer not tomorrow,
but now. And yet, over time, her family discovered (along with her)
that much of what we deem as pressing is not so urgent really. And
what we may think is important loses its urgency when viewed from
a broader perspective. Not only that, the deeper message that “all
will be well, no matter what” began to surface, reminding her
that there is indeed a plan and a purpose we cannot always see but
which will eventually work itself out.
Along the way, Anne discovered the meaning of the
word, “radical: “of or going to the root of things.”
So what was being seen as a radical practice actually brought her
back to her center, back to her roots, her deep spiritual roots, the
roots that told her who she was. I dare say we all need to know that,
but are we willing to pay the price? Are we willing to turn away from
all that glitters to spend time where no one else can go with us?
The answer, I’ve found, is that we are willing
if we want to restore balance in our life. If we want to find what
is lasting, even eternal, in our every day experience. And that, of
course, is what kept Anne coming back to the silence, until it became
part of the very rhythm of her life.
We can do that, too. Maybe not for a whole day, at
least not at first, but why not 20 or 30 minutes here and there? My
guess is that we will find it so refreshing, so renewing, that we’ll
want to come back again and again. And that is why we meditate. Not
now and then, but regularly. As in daily. Every morning, every afternoon.
But that’s another whole subject, so let’s get back to
Anne’s story for now.
I doubt that we’re aware – really aware
– of how much noise we hear all the time. As I sit here typing
this, I’m mindful of the hum of my computer, my furnace running,
and someone outside having trouble getting up our icy hill. And of
course there is the keyboard I’m typing on, with its faithful
clacking sound echoing my efforts to gather up my thoughts into something
coherent.
The interesting thing about silence is that when
you really get there, all those other noises may still be going on,
but you don’t hear them. You simply aren’t there. You’re
“somewhere else,” or, as Deepak would say, you’re
on another frequency, the frequency of silence. The frequency of simply
being. The place of wholeness. Of fullness. Of just being.
Of course, Anne wasn’t talking about meditating.
She was just not talking, but even that “simple” act put
her in another space, a more reflective space, a space somewhat detached
from all the demands of daily life. In that space, she felt more aware.
More alive. Even more connected. How strange! You become more “connected”
by disconnecting? Strange indeed, but true. In disconnecting from
all the chaos and flurry, she connected with That which lay under
it all. Her roots. The ground of her being. The part of her that was
real.
The curious part was that in order to find the connected
part of herself, she first had to move through all the flotsam that
had accumulated inside her and which finally had a chance to surface
~ to be heard ~ in her silence. It was so easy to ignore the pain,
the hurtful memories from the past when one was busy doing, doing,
doing. But pain never really goes away until we deal with it. So the
silence was her opportunity to clear away the flotsam so she could
find the peaceful waters she was seeking. That meant assessing her
motives, examining her behavior, not so much to judge it, but more
to understand it. Even to bring compassion, acceptance and forgiveness
to it. After all, how could she forgive anyone else until she had
accepted and forgiven herself? So with us all!
Anne calls the flotsam “compost.” I like
her description. Compost is continually transforming, continually
changing. What might be seen as useless waste actually turns into
something that is potentially nourishing. In other words, nothing
is really ever wasted. I’ve believed that for a long time, and
it sounds like that is what Anne discovered, too, as she saw how working
with the compost in her life made each day richer and more rewarding.
Something else Anne became aware of during her times
of silence was the importance of boundaries, of allowing other people
to work through their issues without her jumping in and trying to
“fix” their problem. Obviously, if you aren’t speaking,
you can’t offer to “help.” We all need space to
figure things out. Allowing others to have their space lets you bring
the gift of acceptance into the picture. It silently tells them you
have confidence in their ability to figure it out. How empowering
that is!
The interesting thing about silence is that the more
we experience it, the more we embrace it. At least that is how it
has been for me. Over time, an awareness seems to grow within you
~ a silent awareness ~ that sees and observes, but whose boat is always
on an even keel. I guess you could say that’s the part of us
that is “in the world but not of it.” Deepak calls that
part of us the witness. It’s the part that is never disturbed,
always at peace. Yes, I know some people enjoy being in the midst
of conflict. They feed on the mayhem, but if they could ever experience
the opposite, I venture to say even that would change. The reason
I say this is because in that deep silent place, there is only joy.
Who would not want joy? Yet that is the nature of our spirit. We just
don’t know it yet.
If ever we are to find that joy, first we have to
let go. Let go of all the grievances, of all the disappointment, all
the sorrow. I don’t know why we carry such heavy burdens around
with us, but we do. Maybe it’s a habit, a rut we’ve gotten
into. The only way we can change that, of course, is to become aware
of those patterns. That awareness began to develop for Anne during
her days of silence as she realized what she would have said or how
she would have responded had she been speaking. The times she would
have given advice when none was requested, or the judgments she would
have made without even thinking. We all are guilty of that to some
degree. We just live our lives on automatic, never realizing the consequences
of our habits. Never noticing how much we’ve lost by not really
listening. By thinking we have the answers when we don’t yet
know what the questions are. I know I’ve done that. Perhaps
you have, too. So it was in the silence that Anne began to hear herself,
that she was able to see with unveiled eyes her assumption that she
was right, no matter what.
As the old saying goes, would that we could see ourselves
as others see us! It was in the silence that that view began to open
for Anne. Perhaps not as others saw her, but certainly as she had
not yet been able to see herself. It was a revelation for her, one
that taught her to speak a little more carefully, to spend her days
a little more consciously.
Anne was learning to listen to herself, and in that
small act, she was becoming more aware. Aware of herself and her tendencies,
but aware, too, of others’ needs. Of what they were saying,
and what they weren’t saying. Aware also of when speech was
welcome, and when quiet listening was the better choice. Knowing when
to just be there, without saying a word. Silence like that runs deep,
and it is in the deeps that we truly meet each other, that we discover
that we are each other at some deep level. That kind of awakening
gives birth to compassion and empathy, to an understanding that does
not feel the need to judge.
There is this much about it ~ When you are silent,
when you are aware, the parts of you that are difficult just seem
to surface, grabbing your attention when none was offered. That’s
a good thing, really. It gives you the opportunity to do some much
needed house cleaning, some honest evaluating, and some shoring up
in the places where you know you could do better.
Anne began to understand that our critical moments
when we would rather judge than listen stem from our insecurity. If
we could truly hear what was being said, if we could go below the
surface and discern what is not being said, we would see the pain,
we would recognize the weakness. Because we harbor those same feelings,
might we feel more kindly toward those we are judging? We would certainly
hope so. After all, we are human, too. We are all on the upward spiral,
with a long way to go. Perhaps if we could just help lift each other
up, we would all “get there” a little sooner.
And how does that happen? Well, we could begin by
first taking care of ourselves. I learned some time ago that you absolutely
have to nurture the nurturer if you want to give out of your fullness
instead of your dregs. When you aren’t running on empty, you
have more to give. Instead of continually grasping in your desperateness,
you are lavishing, not deliberately but just naturally. The love just
spills out. The understanding seems more complete, and the act of
letting things be as they are becomes more comfortable.
Now that we understand better the need for space,
the importance of silence, it is easier to offer those same gifts
to others. Plants grow in silence. So do people. Growth is always
an inward occurrence. Amazingly (at least to me), so is plenty. As
so many others have observed, when you are silent, when you are still,
the universe just seems to bow at your feet. Inspiration, ideas, creativity,
answers just seem to flourish when we honor the silence. All sound,
all activity comes from stillness. When we open ourselves to that
power, amazing things can happen.
Creativity demands space to move in. Only when we
free ourselves from constriction can creativity flourish. Space is
to the imagination as food is to the body. Room to ponder, to consider,
to re-consider. Free from distraction, focused totally in the moment,
the inner voice begins to make itself known. The idea surfaces. The
answer dances around in our imagination, just waiting to be caught.
Like children chasing fireflies, we play with the concept until it
finally begins taking shape in our mind.
Actually, creativity and healing have a lot in common.
Both require silence ~ for ideas to be born, for cells to renew. The
work is always culminated in silence.
Naturally, this does not imply that we should live
our whole life in silence, but it does mean that through the practice
of silence, we come in contact with that part of ourself that can
only be touched in silence, that part of ourself which is already
whole, that is always at peace, and knows only joy. This is the part
of ourself that can become a presence in our life, guiding and helping
us, regardless of what is going on.
I heard someone speak recently of the fullness of
life. How interesting, and how completely foreign to the barrenness
we hear so much about. She was talking about the fullness of the spirit,
the fullness we come to know intimately when once we learn how to
be still. To be quiet. To listen.
It is the listening, I think, that opens the door
for so many. When you truly hear, knowledge moves beyond the head.
It becomes experiential. Experience does not doubt. You just know,
and you know that you know.
Knowing allows us to live life more spontaneously.
The sense of freedom it engenders can be intoxicating. We were never
“in control” anyway, but now we not only know that, we
also know that the control is in far wiser hands than ours. It becomes
easier to go with the flow. To ride with the tide of life. To go where
life seems to want to take us, trusting in the higher wisdom every
inch of the way.
Silence can teach us so much. How to wait. How to
be patient. How to be still. How to be. I find it easiest to tune
into this aspect of myself when I’m feeling the timelessness
of Nature. Nature just is. In Nature, change is constant, and yet
so natural. No anxiety. No rushing. No urgency. Just being and evolving,
being and evolving. I find it easier to slip into that mode when I’m
immersed in Nature’s loving presence.
There is a broadness to life ~ and to my spirit ~
that I feel when I’m “out in Nature.” Boundaries
silently evaporate as I enter a deeper level of my being where all
is in harmony, all is in sync. I am part of the symphony, a lonely
flute, yet not alone at all, for there is a broader fabric to life
that sweeps me up and carries me on the tide of its becoming. There
are thoughts here, but they cannot be put into words. There are feelings,
too, but they cannot be described at this experiential level of being.
Deepak calls this a state of Isness. I like that. It feels unfettered,
free, yet very much directed in the larger scheme of things.
Finding this deep center brings us back to where
we started before we even knew we’d begun. It’s a circular
journey, a spiritual journey, that returns us to our core, over and
over and over again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~Donna Miesbach~