I settled into my comfortable chair in my office garret, ready to read the morning's devotion, ready to meditate, but I was overwhelmed by sounds. Bird song. The mourning dove's one note set the beat for the chorus of other birds, which I couldn't identify, but I loved the melody. Occasionally, a lone crow's ca-a-a-a could be heard. There is always one in the crowd who can't carry a tune. They sang a second verse and a third, a hymn for the new day.
In the meantime I heard sounds of a new day inside the house. My husband emptying the dishwasher and then raising the window shades. I heard him open and close his closet and later, walking through the dining room and unzipping his laptop case. Zip shut. He called out goodbye as he left for the coffee shop where he takes his work. The click of the lock in the front door.
I heard him greet a neighbor and then he was back. "Forgot my phone." Once more the click of the lock.
Sirens. Garbage trucks. Someone's horn. The bark of a dog. Beep, beep, beep of road work trucks. Even the rumble of traffic from the freeway many blocks from us.
Last night when I got up briefly I heard the swish of gentle rain, and I could almost hear the newly scattered grass seed say "thank you." The house was quiet then, but now it is full of the sounds of being alive. The ding on my computer signals a new email or two or three or more, and I think how easy it would be right now to tune into thoughts waiting for my attention--the list of what I hope to do today and how I am going to respond to phone calls and emails.
Instead, I try to listen to the invisible sound of the petals falling from the flowering crabtree next door. If I am still enough and open my heart even more, will I be able to hear, though they are blocks away in their own home, our grandson still sleeping and our granddaughter brushing her teeth? Will I be able to hear my father using his walker to move carefully through his apartment?
I think I can still hear the firm tick of the wall clock I bought in Paris before it fell off my wall and lost all speech and sense of time. I hear the chimes of the church bells in our neighborhood even though they have not yet begun to mark the passage of the day. Soon I will hear the sounds of children walking to school. They are always louder, more boisterous on the return trip in the afternoon, however.
And I hear the memory of being in this space with a spiritual directee. I hear her being, along with her words and then mine. I hear us listening to each other. Listening for wisdom and clarity and understanding and guidance. Listening for appreciation and vision and new possibilities. Listening for connection.
As I listen, I become still, for I don't want to miss anything. I don't want to miss the movement of God in my life. Listening begins here in the stillness of my heart. As we listen, we meet ourselves. And we meet each other.
Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.
Mary Oliver
An Invitation
What do you hear today? I would love to know.
The first Thursday of each month I offer you a meditation to use during the month. Here is the meditation for December.
A few days ago my husband and I were sitting in the cafe area of a book store, and we couldn't help but overhear the conversation of a man and a woman who were meeting each other for what seemed to be the first time. It seemed to me they were stretching to find commonality as they talked about how they each like to fix their coffee and the difficulties she had with a new dryer in the home she just purchased. They did share some information about their children--ages and work--but it was all quite superficial.
I noticed the man's body language. He kept bouncing one leg under the table. A nervous habit or perhaps just in that situation. I kept wanting to say to him, "Breathe. Take it easy. Pause. Be still."
Thoughts of Stillness
Seeing this man's discomfort, I wondered if he was familiar with Psalm 46:10, "Be still and know that I am God."
Being still allows us to know God in a deeper and wider way, but it also helps us know and be ourselves as well. Gunilla Norris writes, "When we make room for silence, we make room for ourselves." (I think substituting the word "stillness" for "silence" makes just as much sense.)
Here's a similar thought by Herman Hesse, "Within you there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself."
How comforting--and amazing--to know that we each have the potential for stillness and in that stillness we become more of who we were created to be. And even more, as we practice stillness, our being as we move through the world can exhibit more of our authentic selves. Even on a first date!
Coming to Stillness
Often when I meditate or do centering prayer, the word I use to empty my head of thoughts and concerns, is "rest." Whispering that to myself immediately seems to relieve me of whatever pressure or expectations I am carrying. Rest, rest. When I am at rest, I can recognize the stillness within, a stillness waiting to support and nurture me.
How easy or difficult is it for you to access the stillness within? As you think about the month ahead, can you imagine how intentional moments of stillness might be helpful and bring you closer to the joy and the sacredness of the season? This month I invite you to use the following meditation, which incorporates Psalm 46:10, as a way to encounter stillness.
A Meditation of Stillness
I invite you to sit in a quiet place and close your eyes lightly, not tightly. Take a couple deep cleansing breaths and allow your body to relax into slow, even breathing.
In this quiet, sacred space you create for yourself say the following words, pausing in quiet reflection after each line.
Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know.
Be still.
Be.
Be.
Be still.
Be still and know.
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know that I am God.
Take a couple deep cleansing breaths, and when you are ready, open your eyes and return to this time and space.
Take a few minutes to note, perhaps in a journal or by whispering to yourself, what you felt, noticed, or learned during this brief time of meditation. What will you now bring into your life?
A Blessing
Even in these days busy, full days of December may you know the comfort and gifts of the stillness within. May the stillness you experience be reflected in the openness and love you bring to others.
An Invitation
What did you notice as you recited the words of stillness? How might you integrate stillness into your spiritual practice? As you move through December, I would welcome knowing if the practice makes a difference in your life. I invite your comments.
The idea for this post came to me on a day I was not feeling well. I felt heavy and cloudy, as if I were sleepwalking. I imagined myself as an ice cube tray full of water being carried from the faucet to the refrigerator. Please don't spill me. I wanted to slip myself into an envelope and be invisible. I wanted to be a button as it is slid into a loop where I would feel held, but not tightly, just securely.
I yearned for stillness.
I yearn for stillness.
Stillness in Nature
As we drove once again from St Paul to Madison, I could sense the earth at rest. This is not the time for action, but a time to become still, to lie fallow, to lie in wait. Only the day before had the wind pushed the remaining leaves on the trees to let go, and they gushed, rushed, whirled, creating liquid gold on city lawns and streets.
The next day the wind itself was still, reminding the earth that it is time to meditate. This was the stillness before we could even ask, "What now?" "What's next?"
I have felt in that gushing, rushing whirling state for the past months as we plowed our way through the many tasks of moving my father and then ourselves into a home in St Paul while still maintaining our Madison home. There have been so many times I have felt the way I do when walking a labyrinth, and I sense the entrance to the center is near. Much to my surprise, however, the path swings me far away from the center. The path loops around once again, for apparently it is not time yet to enter the center. It is not yet time to be in that place, to receive the gifts of being in the center.
My job as I loop around following the path is to remain balanced. To find the stillness within, even as I continue on the path.
The Need for Stillness
I have always liked Monday mornings, the feeling of starting anew, of plotting just how to accomplish everything that must be done. It all seems possible as I make my list. I feel in control--until the unexpected. What had looked like a spacious week, suddenly was filling in ways that at first glance seemed unproductive, ways that would take time away from crossing tasks off my list. Ok, I will access my flexible side, I told myself, whichever side that turns out to be. I was resigned, until I couldn't find my little notebook with my lists for the upcoming move--phone numbers and other notations I stored there, rather than in my head. Only Monday morning, and I had lost control.
What to do? At those times there is really nothing left to do, but move into stillness, and that's what I did.
I stretched out on the chaise in the den and took several deep breaths. I placed my hands, palms facing upwards on my lap, and closed my eyes. I let the stillness descend on me, and I opened to the stillness within. I could hear the action of the washer and dryer upstairs and also the construction noise outside. Yes, it is possible to be still, even when the world around you is not silent.
I noticed my breathing and could feel myself finding my own rhythm. I entered this time with no expectation of great insight or with any expectations. Not even with the hope that when I re-entered the agenda of the day I would miraculously find my little notebook. Sitting in stillness is good for its own sake.
Stillness When None is Available
Here it is the first week of December, and the desire for stillness seems totally incongruous with the busyness of the month. Whose idea was it anyway to cram so many holidays into such a short period of time? Wouldn't Halloween or Thanksgiving have been enough, but no, for those of us who celebrate Christmas, which is only 22 days away, these are busy, bustling times.
How does one find or create stillness in such busy days when the extras of holiday activities are added onto the normal everyday routines of life?
This is exactly the time when stillness is a necessity; when it is crucial, not just important, to carve out moments of stillness. It is time to push the pause button.
Take a deep breath wherever you are and whatever you are doing and invite calm and stillness to enter your body through every pore. Stand completely still, but breathe naturally for just a few seconds, longer if you can. Notice your body's gratitude for the brief time out.
Remember when your children were young and you sent them to their room for a "time out." Well, we are the ones who need a time out. Take one. Now.
Oh, and by the way, I did find my little "moving" notebook.
December's Meditation
The theme for this month's meditation, which I will post on Thursday, is "stillness." I hope it will help you find that still place within, even during these busy days.
An Invitation
What are your challenges with being still? Do you always need to be doing something? Do you know what it feels like to be still? If you practice stillness, what are the fruits? I invite your comments.
