In going through one of my many diaries, I found this passage I wrote 23 years ago, while in a monastary.
Our truest guide to consciousness or wakefulness is silence.
What a perfectly compassionate guide silence is. Silence conveys the overwhelming joy of permission. Silence will never strike you. Silence will never judge nor condemn you. It is like an eternal reservoir of purity, clarity and stillness, forever receptive to your thoughts and prayers, allowing for the waxing and waning of all that is you. You are permitted to enter it but you are also free to leave it at any time. It holds no grudges, has no expectations and demands nothing of you. Its inevitable gift to you is peace for when there is nothing to prove, nothing to fight, nothing to deny and nothing to uphold you discover the blessings of release, surrender and ultimately, trust.
I so looked forward to every early morning meditation performed in a particular posture practiced by Zen Buddhists. Facing any one of the meditation room walls, eyes open not shut, we sat in Zazen in a state of silent surrender for hours. At first my body ached while my mind tried to control the discomfort, but with each passing day my body became more flexible, my mind more relaxed and the longer I sat, the happier I felt. It was one early morning in the dim light of dawn that something wonderful happened.
The many lit candles in the centre of the large room cast their warm light towards the four walls transforming it into a safe and soft embryonic haven. My gaze, although focused, felt more relaxed than ever before. I was not trying to accomplish anything other than accept the wall in front of me. With the soft orange candlelight caressing my back I felt I was being lulled towards the tapestry of all tranquility. The wall before me dissipated and my body became part of the light surrounding me. Suspended I knew that I was the eternal seed, atomic in size and potency, the fetus of all creation. It was not a thought nor an emotion. It was just something that was. The instant I tried to make sense of what was happening, the experience left me, the wall returned and my body resumed its physical form. I tried to go back there, but in trying to force it, my attempts were doomed.
After that experience, silence taught me the essence of Presence. Being in the moment was not about being on time, it was about experiencing every experience with the curiosity and attention of a child that is experiencing something for the first time. We have forgotten the delight of non-duality. We can do something so habitually that our minds and even our eyes don’t have to focus. So, although our hands are moving and doing, our minds are not participating; our minds are concentrating on something else and so we are not focused on the deed at hand. We are absent. As long as we do that, we cannot experience the gift of grace because our energies are too scattered.
For several hours a day I was requested to work in the garden and although I had not done a day of gardening in my life, it felt like I had done it since childhood.
The silence soothed me. For the very first time in my life I had nobody interfering in anything I did. There was no expectation, no right or wrong, only my very best attempt at doing something so that my chores became an extension of myself, not a repetition of someone else’s work. During those many hours outdoors a delightful calm enveloped me permitting me to access feelings of joy and contentment that awoke my willingness to be both playful and creative. That to me was grace. While I cut back shrubs, planted seeds and seedlings, removed weeds and created new plant beds with care and consideration I felt happier than I had felt in many years. I had no desire to talk to anyone and it was while at the monastery that silence became my closest companion and confidante. That time of ‘aloneness’ helped me to become familiar with the truth that loneliness is an illusion.
Making meditation easier
