Finding peace in quiet

I have a busy brain. But thank goodness, it’s no longer busy all the time. Because if my mind was going non-stop, I’m sure I’d be learning nothing.

I’d eventually find the words—but I wouldn’t feel the words—for this blog.

Rather than embracing the impermanence of love, I’d still be trying to fight it. Rather than appreciating the woman I see in the mirror, I’d be missing the girl.

When I was an insatiable child, my mother would say “Greedy, greedy, makes a hungry puppy.” I hated that. But now I know this: “Busy, busy, makes a tired monkey.”

To give the monkey mind time to reflect, I drive long distances in my van. I put away my phone. With no one in the passenger seat, I feel no pressure to speak. When I get where I’m going, I sleep alone.

But at a recent three-day retreat at Colorado’s Shambhala Mountain Center—Silent Meditation Intensive: In the Cradle of Loving-Kindness—I learned that silence in and of itself isn’t enough.

We also need the intentional practice of meditation. We need to sit with our thoughts. To let them be what they are. To watch them come and go.

Before this retreat, I’d tried shorter periods of supervised meditation and silence, so the requisite 48 hours of no talking seemed daunting but doable. I imagined wandering alone over the sacred land and napping in the tent I’d been assigned.

I didn’t realize we’d be sitting in meditation, nearly all day, for two whole days, in 25-minute increments. And that the monotony of sitting would be relieved only by five-minute intervals of walking. Also in meditation.

Mercifully, we had the option to do this all outside!

My body ached but I was never bored. My fleeting thoughts were at times informative and times ridiculous. Birds chirped and chipmunks skittered by. When a herd of cows mooed in the distance we all giggled out loud. For blessed intervals my mind was empty. I found the peace I was seeking.

Every day since returning home, I’ve sat Zazen for 20 or 30 minutes. Why? Because I like the way it feels. And I’m curious about my thoughts, although they sometimes scare me.

In The Places that Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times, Pema Chödrön writes that sitting meditation gives us a way to move closer to our thoughts and emotions and get in touch with our bodies.

Gradually, in the midst of continually talking to ourselves, we experience a pause—as if awakening from a dream. We recognize our capacity to relax with the clarity, the space, the open-ended awareness that already exists in our minds. We experience moments of being right here that feel simple, direct, and uncluttered.

She says, We can accept ourselves because meditation takes us just as we are, with our confusion and our sanity.

Say what? We’re allowed to be confused. And insane. And imperfect. Our minds can be noisy. Or they can be quiet. We can be afraid! The aim isn’t to get rid of our thoughts. But rather, to see and accept ourselves as we are. To acknowledge our basic goodness.

And here’s the best part: Though it won’t happen immediately, and it won’t necessarily happen at all, the payoff can be big.

Acceptance can set us free!