Sitting in Silence: Tuesday's Reflection

Here I am at my desk, and it is time to write my post. What should I write? I don't have a clue. I'm grateful this doesn't happen to me very often, but, nevertheless, I don't have a topic burning to be released through my fingertips.

Sometimes in a spiritual direction session, my directee says, "I don't know what I want to talk about today." So we sit in silence for a bit and something emerges. Often something from a very deep place. Sometimes a passing thought crosses the threshold and comes into the light. Or sometimes we float, beginning with what seems insignificant and more often than not that leads to a surprising insight. 

So this morning I sat in silence. And more silence. And nothing emerged. Nothing deep or surprising. Nothing compelling or even mildly interesting. 

I simply sat in silence. 

I heard a garbage truck in the alley, the little girl across the street crying, my husband pounding something in the garage, an airplane, my laptop whirring gently, a car going past, a dog barking and barking some more, and a neighbor's garage door going up and then down. 

I didn't hear any new or original thoughts to pursue. Not one. 

I took a deep breath and another and massaged my forehead, my eyebrows, my eyes and down to my cheeks and lips. I cupped my hands under my chin, enjoying the warmth. I covered my ears with my hands, creating even more silence. The kind of silence when all you hear is your own heartbeat. 

I felt myself drift from waiting for inspiration to surrendering to the silence. 

I could stay here all day, I think. 

Ah, here it is. How do I bring this quality of silence, of stillness, the unwrinkled forehead and the even breathing into my day? That's the invitation, the gift. 

And that's enough.

An Invitation
What happens when you sit in silence? I would love to know.