Stillness, Breathing, & Being With What Comes of Silence

I’m about to go on a meditation retreat for the first time. Three days of silence and alternating periods of sitting and walking meditation, along with a few dharma talks, silent meals with strangers. I’m a little nervous, a little excited, but mostly curious.

I have been meditating pretty much daily since late 2019, initially anticipating that 2020 would be a rough election year and I would need to gather all the mental sturdiness and spiritual substance I could muster to get me through (but of course clueless that things were about to get much more complicated than I could possibly dream up, even with my talent for catastrophizing!) I do think consistent meditation has changed me remarkably over time. But I practice pretty informally and rarely more than 30 minutes a day, so I am not quite sure how this massive dose of stillness, silence, and being with my breathing will settle.

As an introvert who often finds silence to be a salve, will it be easier to be around people if I’m not expected to speak to them? Or, because I’m not supposed to talk—and I can chafe a bit against what’s forbidden—will I suddenly want to talk ceaselessly like some kind of extra extrovert?

While in the last couple months I’ve felt grounded in a newly solid way, will it get slippery with too much time in my own mind? Will I fixate on old things I thought I’d put to rest? Will I invent new subjects of rumination? Or gratefully discover that the growth I’ve been working really hard at for the last couple years remains intact with all that space and may even start to deepen? Will I find I am, in fact, able to count on this capacity to meet myself with compassion, even when I’m struggling? Or get pummeled with clarity that it’s all been a convincing lie I’ve told myself, as I spiral back to my most neurotic or despairing self?

Will I be transfixed by an intrusive fear of falling asleep and snoring in the meditation hall? Get stuck on a list of did-not-get-dones? Surprise myself with the depths of boredom I can reach or uncover an unshakable series of pains all over my body that I spend days agonizing through? Be driven to madness by the unbearable biting of an itch on my knee that I can’t befriend no matter how much serenity I pretend to wrap myself in? Or will it be something else altogether that I can’t predict or plan for?

Probably in reality, different parts of me will start to ping at different times throughout the long weekend, a mix of pleasant and unpleasant, profound and ridiculous. But whatever happens, I have no doubt there will be plenty to learn.

Looking forward to seeing what it’s like to do walking meditation among trees I can marvel at but not photograph, not jot down phrases that the wind shakes loose.

So for now, I’ll get some photos from this stunningly gorgeous month of spring out of my system. Share some poems that allude to my enchantment with stillness and my fascination with the rhythms of breathing (mine and the Earth’s):

Tree Lessons On Being Human (#2)

What a mess we make, always
grabbing for more and more and
more. If only we could borrow
a bit of your stillness,
let ourselves be
rooted and here, a bit
of your resilience as you dance 
in answer to the wind, a bit
of your grace as you bear
the upheaval of seasons.

How To See What Is Invisible

You can never see the wind 
itself but there’s evidence 
of its play amongst the leaves, 
the light ricocheting at its urging.
The wind itself is soundless
but for the leaves. The leaves
themselves are soundless
but for wind. And when
it makes a wildness of 
the branches, I can feel
the breathing of the Earth
in my own body.

Stillness Isn’t Still

There’s movement
even in the motionless.
A dance
in these still branches
striking poses.
Even as my feet
are planted, always
always spinning.

Constant Permutations

Leaf shadows whispering
in the grass, shot through
with flecks of light. Spilling
onto the pavement where the edges
subtly shapeshift. Quiet
dominates. It feels like nothing
is moving, but everything
perceptibly breathes.
Everything, every moment
changes. Maybe the most
rattling fact of existence;
the most essential
ingredient.

To Know Stillness

The unfettered wind is perplexed 
by the trees: What is it like
to be stuck in one place? 
The trees rustle tenderly on
about the joy in depth of knowing
the radius of this single space,
the chance meeting with beings
never seen again and those who
are drawn to their light again
and again, all the pain and play
they witness, all the cycles blooming
and receding. All the wisdom
traveling underground to meet
their roots. All that feeds them.
All the beings they give refuge to.
Then they meet the wind’s gaze,
confounded in turn: What is it like
to never know stillness, to always
have to be saying goodbye?

Thank you for reading! May you find the joy of what moves within you as you are in stillness or through movement find what is joyful and still within you! May you find the vitality and the calm and the wisdom in the rhythms of your breathing.