For the first time since last fall, I sat in the garden at the side of our house, a garden we call "Paris." The sun was warm--no sweater was required--and even though all was still plain and brown, I relished my return to this quiet space.
After reading for twenty minutes or so, I closed my eyes and imagined myself opening French doors from a small, but oh so chic Parisian apartment and walking out into a private square of greenery and sunshine. Traffic may be buzzing beyond the hedge, but for the moment there is only this--luxurious quiet and the bare breath of a breeze.
I took deep cleansing breaths, in and out, and felt my shoulders relax, my scalp release its tightness, and my hands unclench. In my Paris garden there is no hurt, no pain or fear, no loss, no worries.
With my next breath I lifted my heart to all who need hope or support or reassurance.
Welcome to my Paris garden.
May you find solace here.
May you feel restored.
Here you can be gentle with yourself. Here is nourishment.
Here your spirit is fed.
Breathe, just breathe.
An Invitation
Where is your Paris garden? Your place of retreat? I would love to know.
The snow continues to fall here in Minnesota. Snow and more snow and yet more snow.
One benefit of changed plans and one cancellation after another is the gift of solitude. Of stillness. Of silence.
A friend sent me a poem, "A Winter Wonderland Psalm" by Edward Hays, which beautifully expresses the benefits of being snowed in, yet again. Here are some of my favorite lines from this poem:
Be still, my soul, like a winter landscape
which is wrapped in the white prayer
shawl
of silent snow fringed with icy
threads.
Be still, O my body, like an icy pond
frozen at attention, at rest yet alert.
and the last stanza:
Be still so that you can discover slowly, day by day,
that God and you are one,
to know in that Wonder-of-Wonderlands
who you really are.
During my morning meditation time recently I have been reading Writing as a Path to Awakening, A Year to Becoming an Excellent Writer and Living an Awakened Life by Albert Flynn DeSilver. Instead of reading one chapter a month I have read a chapter every day. The morning I received the Edward Hays poem I read the May chapter, which focuses on imagination and the art of the image. DeSilver offers several steps for jump-starting your imagination.
The third step, "Surrendering to Silence" is the one that grabbed my attention and not just for the way it addresses ways a writer can cultivate the imagination, but also because it highlights a basic spiritual principle.
Spend time in silence every day, lest you remain caught
in the chronic chatter of the world, with all its
opinion-slinging and mechanical celebrations of the
mundane...At a certain point, it is essential to just stop
and let it all go...Letting go should be a daily practice...
If you give yourself to silent meditation every day, you
will never be at a loss for peace and calm, for deep
connection; ...Yes, of course, you will still experience
sadness, doubt, fear, and anxiety, but over time you
will become friendly with these visitors; you won't
get snagged by them, and the spaciousness within
you will grow to accommodate the totality of being
human... (pp. 80-81)
How is this related to the poem by Hays? What does surrendering to silence have to do with winter?
If you feel challenged by undesired hibernation time, perhaps you can imagine yourself invited to wrap up in a white prayer shawl and to enter into silent time. Perhaps the silence of the snow falling and the expanse of the unbroken white is an invitation to release, to nurture your inner quiet.
I was recently reminded of the term "Spiritual Positioning System," (SPS). Like a GPS, when our SPS is functioning well we have a better understanding of where we are, and I think that includes knowing who we are and our true nature, the person we were created to be. When we adopt silence as a spiritual practice, we are more likely to hear answers, responses, even the bidding of the Divine. And then we are more prepared for the next season of our life.
An Invitation
How is your SPS functioning these days? I would love to know.
Because we moved so often when I was a child, I was often alone. Summers were lonely before starting school in a new place, and making new friends was not easy for this introvert. I was often alone and lonely, but I learned how to be alone, how to be comfortable with myself.
Over the years, however, I grew to value being alone, and along the way, I developed my contemplative nature. Time to be alone became essential.
It is true I spend much of my day working alone in my garret space, but it is rare I am alone in the house overnight. Now don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. For almost the first year of our return to Minnesota, Bruce commuted between here and Madison. He came home late Thursday night and returned to Madison Sunday afternoons. We were thrilled when that pattern ended, and he started working long-distance from his desk in the lower level.
Still, sometimes it is nice to have a span of alone time.
Last Thursday Bruce drove with our daughter and grands to Cleveland to visit our son and daughter-in-love. I elected to stay home--not because I craved alone time, but because I am in the midst of a consuming writing project. The decision was not an easy one, but it felt necessary. And wise. And, I accomplished so much.
I felt great release. I could eat when I wanted to and what I wanted to and not think about planning a meal. I could go to bed and get up on my own schedule. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I could turn on the light and read until I felt ready to sleep again. I could follow my own whims. All without bothering anyone else.
I turn 69 in a few weeks and more and more am aware of both the gifts and the challenges of being older. This is a time when many of us are more alone than we have been in our younger years. If we are married, we may face the loss of a spouse. Friends die or move away to be closer to family. Our ability to be out and about with the ease of earlier years decreases for a variety of years.
Richard Morgan calls this time "solitary refinement," and encourages us to use this time of our lives "to be alone with God, for what else matters in these years and in the years to come?"
Solitude allows us to be with ourselves, to listen with the ears of our heart, to discover what we know, what we question, what is unspoken within, what needs to be forgiven.
Solitude helps us "find the deep, calm place that makes aging such a serene part of life," Says Joan Chittister.
Solitude helps us let go of what is not necessary, of what impedes our relationship with God. Solitude moves us towards compassion for ourselves and others. Solitude clears the space.
Today is Tuesday and my family arrives home today, and I am ready. More than ready. I have missed them and I am eager to hear all the details of their time with Geof and Cricket.
But I am also grateful for the touches of solitude.
An Invitation
How comfortable are you being alone? Do you seek solitude? I would love to know.
Bruce and I are now into week two of him working part time from home, and friends and family have been inquiring, "How is it going?" Some ask based on their own experiences of transitioning from working full-time outside the home to part-time work of some sort or to full retirement--whatever that is! Others inquire with the view of change looming ahead in their own future. Still others are simply kind and curious and good at asking questions.
I can say without hesitation that this new lifestyle is good. Bruce is happy, and I am happy, too. We have not yet discovered any problems to solve or areas where we need to be more considerate of each other or where we are getting in each other's way. Yet. Of course, that will come. The novelty will wear off, but so far so good, and that as Martha Stewart always says is a "good thing."
By the end of the first week, however, I realized how tired I was. True, last week was not only Bruce's first week at home, but we also had the grands with us for a couple days and the grand dog with us for additional days; the painter here late afternoons finishing a complicated project which kept the house in a mild state of unsettledness; a garage sale in process for three days, and …who knows what else. I am too tired to remember!
Even so I am aware enough to know that all the activity is not the total source of weariness. Frankly, I am not used to the amount of interaction which is now part of our day to day life. As an introvert, I adjusted quite easily and naturally to the quiet days I had all these months from Sunday afternoon to Thursday evenings when Bruce was in Madison working. I wasn't quite a hermit, but most of the time I chose when to interact, to be with people.
Now there is someone else in the house. That someone calls up the stairs to the garret, "Can I come up?" Of course. I want him to come up here. I want to enjoy the ease of conversation, instead of only communicating via text or email or phone--we have never been good phone talkers and such interchanges usually left us dissatisfied. Still, I need to adjust. Like turning up the thermostat when the temperature drops, I need to turn up my ability, my willingness, for unplanned, incidental, spontaneous, in passing sorts of discourse. I am not complaining. I'm just noticing and am aware.
Having the ability to chit chat during the day is different from the days when he would return home at the end of the day, and we could share the day's comings and goings. Now we are experiencing sharing as we go along. Certainly, many of those dinnertime conversations were less than satisfying, for he would be tired from a long, full day, and many days I would not have much of interest to contribute. I may have had a routine domestic day of loads of laundry and groceries purchased or I may have had an inner-directed day of writing, thinking, listening to my own soul work. Much may have been percolating, but was not yet available for sharing. Those end of the day times together had their own challenges, but we adapted and forgave the lapses, knowing they were temporary.
Now there are new challenges. This time has the potential to be one of holy delight, but that means adapting and adjusting and being willing to open to new ways of being with one another. Paula Huston in her book A Season of Mystery, 10 Spiritual Practices for Embracing A Happier Second Half of Life gives some sound and clear advice.
…we must first give up our notions about what should
or should not be. We must be willing to let go of
personal preference or too much concern about what
might inconvenience us. We must resist becoming anxious
when things don't go our way. For an overly controlling
stance is the enemy of delight. p. 19
I hope I am up for the challenge. I want to be and intend to be, for, I know, ultimately we will both reap the rewards. Bringing who we are into this time and space, we can come to know each other in deeper and more profound ways. This is an opportunity for a new kind of presence to each other and to ourselves as spiritual beings.
Yesterday afternoon I retreated to my garret to read and write in my journal and to nap as well. Bruce was at his desk when I walked up the stairs. Later he took the grand dog for a walk, and I thought for a moment about joining them, but I could feel I was not ready to leave the solitude I carved for myself. Soon, I said to myself, but at the moment I was not quite ready to adjust the thermostat to a more congenial and conversational temperature. Just give me a few minutes.
An Invitation
Where is your thermostat set for daily interactions? Does there need to be some adjustment? What have you experienced when there has been a change in your lifestyle? I would love to know.
Part of my preferred morning routine is to sit in silence for 20 minutes or so. Sometimes I label it meditation and sometimes centering prayer, and sometimes, I confess, I doze more than meditate, even after a good night's rest. I may sit in the living room on one of the wingback chairs or on the front porch, although I risk being interrupted by a greeting from a passing neighbor. I may choose the deck off the dining room, but the sun doesn't bathe that area till lunchtime and often it is just too cool to sit there first thing in the morning. Lately, I have enjoyed reflection time on the screen porch, which is on the lower level of the house between my office and the garage, the back of the house. Private and quiet. Usually. But not lately. In fact, silence is not to be found these days.
Several homes are being constructed on the ridge across from our house. We still have a barrier of woods and green space to give the illusion of privacy, but the tap, tap tapping of hammers, the beehive buzz of saws, the beeping, rumbling, rattling of trucks, the shouting of the worker guys and their occasional country western music, the pounding, the pulsing, the percussion of the building process bombard me. From early morning until into the evening.
The last draw was an extremely upset Mama robin who swooped as close to the porch screens as possible, furiously alerting me to her frustration that I have invaded her space. Apparently, I am too close to her nest. This is her sanctuary and what am I doing there? What am I am doing there? Well, I am certainly not meditating.
Quiet Days
My days normally are quite quiet. True, I enjoy listening to NPR when I am in the car, and I like having the TV as my companion when I am cooking, but most of the time when I am working in my office or reading or writing, I do so in silence. I love the 5 minutes of silence at the end of a session with my spiritual director. I walk in the mornings unaccompanied by headset. I am comfortable when time with my husband or other good friend eases into a shared connection of silence. I welcome the time before drifting off to sleep when I close my eyes and settle into silence, reflecting on the day.
Gifts of Silence
I not only am not afraid of silence, I treasure and embrace silence. It is in the silence that I hear who I am and who I have been created to be. Don't get me wrong--I love deep levels of conversation and the ease of laughter and silliness in my life, but what sustains me is a shawl of silence and stillness and solitude. Silence both calms me and energizes me. In silence I strain what is not necessary or worthy or nourishing. I focus and rejuvenate. I allow essence to live. And, of course, as with everything of value it seems paradox emerges. "By wrapping myself in a cocoon of silence, I was in some way engaging more fully with life rather than withdrawing from it." (Anne D. LeClaire)
Yes, I could leave the house and find a place that is more quiet, but I suspect there is a challenge, an opportunity here. Can I create a place of silence within myself even as the world around me is vibrating with noise? How interesting--I have barely noticed the competing sounds from the construction zone as I have engaged with my heart and written this post. So yes, the answer is yes, I can create a place of silence within myself even as the world around me is vibrating with noise.
Selected Resources from my Bookshelves
One Square Inch of Silence, One Man's Search for Natural Silence in a Noisy World by Gordon Hempton
Listening Below the Noise, A Meditation on the Practice of Silence by Anne D. LeClaire
Stillness, Daily Gifts of Solitude by Richard Mahler
A Book of Silence by Sara Maitland
For the first time since last fall, I sat in the garden at the side of our house, a garden we call "Paris." The sun was warm--no sweater was required--and even though all was still plain and brown, I relished my return to this quiet space.
