Silence and Noise

Silence and noise.

It feels like the entirety of this journey can be placed into one of those two categories.

Silence. Moments of pure stillness, communing with nature Herself or deep into inner space, where something in me speaks without making a sound. Sometimes I come to them on purpose, others by surprise. Climbing up a rocky mountain path in the pre-dawn hours is the perfect chance to get quiet, inside and out, a moving meditation. You know what you’re in for. Reaching the top to be greeted by a slip of a man whose strength is astounding as he lives out his days in a state of pure humility and devotion is enough to silence anyone. How many among us would choose life in a cave on a mountaintop, meditating on the Divine while the wind whips by above and society whips by below?

Noise. Moments of chaotic motion, thrust into the blaring horns, exhaust fumes and bumpy roads of the towns and cities of India. Thoughts race, judgments too, and sometimes I ask myself what I’m doing here. Even in the supposed sanctuary of your guesthouse room there are almost always neighbors talking, doors slamming and other ambient sounds to keep the peace just far enough at bay. Earplugs are a godsend. Headphones too. At least if it’s going to be noisy, let me choose sounds that soothe.

Then there are moments where it is proverbial silence and noise. Take today, Christmas in Mamallapuram. There are enough westerners who visit this beachside town complete with stunning displays of architecture and carvings that the gypsy street children and adults know well how to engage us for a few rupees whether we want to or not. This proposition always challenges me- the desire to give coming into conflict with the desire to not enable, because unfortunately "successful" begging could be what keeps these very same souls from seeking more substantial support and opportunity.

I end up giving far more than I end up saying no, yet even when I offer my silent prayer to each one, I am often left feeling a twinge of guilt.

It’s noisy in my head, trying to make sense of all this, so noisy that I apparently need to be stunned into silence when I make it to my hotel in the evening. I try to offer the man who carried my bags a tip. He refused, and I immediately thought I’d insulted him somehow. When he returned with a fresh towel and basket of fruit for me, I’d fished out a bigger bill and handed it to him, hoping to right the perceived wrong. Again he tried to refuse, but I insisted and asked him to explain. He gestured to the red kumkum powder smudged across my third eye and said “You’re a Hindu,” as he then pointed to his own identical marking, a sign of solidarity and respect.

 

I was literally stunned silent. First at having been seen for what I often feel I am by a man I took as a representative of a people who generally thinks I’m anything but, and second at how I’d so easily mistaken an act of kindness for something aggressive thanks to my conditioning. How sweet that silence was, even as the noise out in the hotel halls continued on.

It’s pretty much impossible for me to not stand out here. I’m white-skinned and green-eyed in a land of brown and more brown. The more Indian I dress, the more that garners its own attention as local people seem to find the sight of a western woman in a saree something to behold, whether in amusement or appreciation I can’t totally be sure.  That often causes me to go outwardly silent, feeling set apart from those around me, and not wanting to draw even more attention to myself than my physical presence already does. But inwardly the noise continues on, as I try to make sense of things I often don’t understand, dispel a negative thought or repeat a mantra.

This is never truer than in temples. For me being in India is a journey of devotion. I don’t come here to simply be a tourist. I come here to be immersed in my spiritual motherland and deepen my connection to my faith. Some temples are extremely accommodating to westerners; some outright fleece you, and others won’t even let you inside. You can’t always be sure which of these you’re in for, and I have definitely experienced them all.

 

A new experience for me this trip was Girivalam, the circumambulation of Mt. Arunachala, surely a temple in its own right. This nearly nine-mile walk around the mountain is held as holy of holies among Shaivists (that would be Shiva-worshipping Hindus) since it is considered to be Shiva, the Supreme Yogi and Cosmic Destroyer’s, fire incarnation. For me it was potent to partake in this ancient and sacred ritual, and equally potent to have such a unique experience in this silence and noise experiment that is my time in India.

I felt free to chant mantras, strut in my saree and channel Lakshmi, the goddess of abundance, as I happily handed rupee notes to the many sadhus and others in need whose paths crossed mine as I went. I felt like I could be out in public and make noise, as a matter of speaking, and that if I was drawing attention to myself, so be it because the silence stemming from the intention and devotion in my heart was felt and heard by those I encountered as well. They understood what I was doing there without question, and I felt welcome among them. The noise was as joyous, peaceful and purposeful as the inner silence that such a meditative act brings.

Through it all, all the noise and all the silence, I come back to a practice that is of India, if not expressly of Hinduism. I come back to equanimity, that balance point taught by the Buddha. Recognizing the ephemeral nature of all as well as the inherent oneness of all, I eventually find the merging of the silence into the noise and the noise into the silence. I eventually find my peace.

Entering into silence

I awoke early today under the light of the moon, me who is a child of the light. Rather than sunbeams reflecting off rolling hills while birds sing their morning song, I was greeted by the spotlight-like intensity of the glowing moon, just shy of her fullness, blazing a beam of insight through the dark night sky. No birds called to me. There was only stillness and quiet. What better metaphor for the journey I am about to enter into.

Today I depart to enter into silence. Today I will turn away from the oh-so-many outer distractions, indulgences and influences that fill my vision and play upon my energy to take a journey inward. Today I will silence my phone, silence my to-do list and silence all that exists outside of me in an attempt to reach something akin to silence within. I will cast most of my life into darkness and focus my beam of light on my inner world just like the moon piercing the vast blackness of night.

I’ll be sitting for my first-ever vipassana meditation retreat. And if the word retreat conjures images of luxury and pampering, you are mistaken. By all accounts this practice is quite austere. Sparse, simple meals and accommodations, just the bare minimum to support you while your days are spent largely in stillness and with almost total outer silence.  No eye contact. No conversation. No reading, chanting mantras, prayer beads, yoga asana or journal writing. Basically everything I do in the course of my normal daily spiritual practice must be put aside and everyone I turn to for sharing and support must be cut off in order for me to commit to this experience. I am easing in with a day of nature, then comes ten days of dedicated vipassana practice followed by a final day of words and outer engagement being reintroduced before returning home.  

 You may be wondering why on earth I’d voluntarily choose this for myself. So am I.

I woke up this morning with a runny nose and an itch in my throat having gone to bed feeling 110% fine last night, a sure sign of my body protesting my heart’s decision. I’ve gone through the mental checklist of all the things I’ll be missing out on while I’m away, weighing them on a proverbial scale against the very substantial weight of this undertaking.  And I’ve already begun to feel the wave of contraction creep through me as emotions such as fear, intimidation and worry arise in the face of this profound experience.

And that is exactly why I’m going.

I’ve taken some major leaps toward the things that I’m afraid of lately, and yet I know I’m not done. Maybe I won’t be done after vipassana either, but my gut and intuition both tell me I must do this regardless. When I refer to my gut, I’m referring to my lower chakras, and when I refer to my intuition, I’m referring to my higher chakras. That they are all aligned behind this choice is all the confirmation I need to take yet another leap. Only this time, unlike some of the recent leaps I’ve taken that were actually away from certain things that were no longer of service to my highest vision of myself, this time I’m leaping right into the fire so I can be burned away and arise anew. This is my phoenix moment.

I’ve conditioned myself to be quite masterful at moving through emotions I don’t want to feel. Get knocked down? Not for long. Dust it off, stand a little taller than before, keep moving. That’s me. Resilient. Brave. Strong.  Yet there is a piece of me who carries those bruises and scars. There is a place inside where I am the shadow of who I show myself to be most of the time. Reticent. Fearful. Weak.

I don’t want to be fragmented any longer. So I’m going within to claim these pieces of myself and integrate them into the whole for I know that it is only in my wholeness, in the whole of my pain as well as my pleasure, that my full passion and purpose can pour through.

I am claiming the child within seeking approval and a sense of safety. I am claiming the woman who longs to be held in loving, lasting partnership. I am claiming the mother who aches to know the ultimate act of creation and service. I am claiming the priestess who has held herself back and kept herself small. I am claiming the author who has yet to commit to letting her voice be heard. I am claiming the friend who desires to get as good as she gives. I am claiming my grief, sadness, loneliness, pettiness, weakness, anger, lust, greed, yearning and everything else that lives in the darkness of my shadow, claiming it so I can bring it forward to become one with my light.

This sense of separation I’ve lived with, that most of us live with, is a prison. It keeps us locked away from the fullness and richness of our lives.  The truth is I actually love my life and recognize the abundance of blessings in it already. So imagine how it would be then to grow that love and increase that abundance by bringing ALL of me forth into the light of my life? And if I can manage that, how sweet will it be to eliminate any sense of separation between me and all my brothers and sisters, the flora and fauna, and the Mother who birthed us all?

My journey into silence will not be easy. I anticipate feeling pain on every possible level. I’d be lying if I said I’m fully prepared for that because how can I be? I’ve never done this before. I have no way of knowing just what will arise throughout these ten days. I know what my intention for this experience is. I know I have the power to choose my reaction to this experience, just as I can choose what it is I need to burn away in the fire of purification so that I may arise anew.  So I choose integration. I choose wholeness. I choose to bring darkness into light. I choose a life lived fully and authentically. I choose my phoenix moment. 

See you on the other side!