being quiet

you're invited

You may recall, a few weeks back, I spent some time at Deer Park Monastery. I have a little story to share about the experience and an invitation.

The story…

Maybe it was the third day… the monastics took a lazy day. This means a day of rest. The day before, they’d hosted more than 100 people who came to walk silently together, to listen to the teachings of the Buddha, to listen to one another reflecting on the teachings. The community feeds all these folks a delicious lunch and everyone eats quietly. These Deer Park days of mindfulness are nourishing for the body, the mind, and the heart. (Find more about them here.)

The day after, the community rests. Another bit of nourishment, as much for themselves as the public they will serve again in a few days.

On my lazy morning, I wandered to a boulder perched on the hillside to listen for a dawn chorus. I sat and waited for the birds, the breeze whispering about the sun. What I heard was silence. Perfect quiet. The morning fog was thick and wet; the valley below, the sun above, the freeway all remained hidden in the cloud. I realized I also was hidden. Later, I thought of Solomon’s Song of Songs…

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I slept but my heart was awake.  
Listen! My beloved is knocking:  
Open to me, my sister, my darling, 
my dove, my flawless one.  
My head is drenched with dew,  
my hair with the dampness of the night.
- Song of Songs 5:2

---

But in that moment, I let the fog, the rock, the cold dawn, the hush touch me. I invited the beloved in. I sat and knew I was becoming fog, rock, dawn and quiet.

I sat, giddy, in love.

The becoming was a return more than a transition. I’d always been these things.

The knowing was a surrender. What else could I possibly be?

Let’s be clear. It isn’t monasteries that make these things happen.

This was an ordinary event. Sacred, yes. But ordinary. It took place on an ordinary morning on an ordinary rock. You could even say it was extra-ordinary. It was so extraordinary that it was beautiful and the creator of beauty all in one. It was grace. It was God.

And that’s not abnormal.

On that lazy morning, the special part was that I opened the door to the beloved knocking. For me, the special part always seems to start with some form of yes, please.

I share this because our return is essential. And the surrender is sweet. The only thing blocking our way is… us. Well, us and our habits of fear and distraction.

Fear?

It’s okay. We all have it. We fear what we don’t know. It shows up as the slightest hesitation or a giant NO WAY. When we feel it, we might call it a competency that allows a pause. We can use that pause well. Perhaps to assess whether we really need to be afraid. Instead, we usually turn away. We turn toward distraction.

The invitation…

Notice for yourself how quickly you fill in spaces. Let’s say you get a moment in a waiting room. Do you sit quietly or do you pull out your phone? Let’s say you’re waiting for a friend. Do you sit quietly or do you pull out your phone? Let’s say you’re stopped at a red light. Ugh. I’m not going to ask.

We gravitate toward noise. We do it so much that quiet is startling and even uncomfortable. And there’s merit in the noise but we might appreciate the filter of quiet. Each unfolds the other.

Please join me on Saturday, August 5 to cultivate our own quiet, together. To say ‘yes, please’ to a morning. At this special event, we’ll experience the visible and the hidden, the birdsong and the silence. Maybe we’ll say yes to the divine’s persistent knocking. Or maybe we’ll simply rest in awareness of everything that is… here’s the open door, just waiting for you to pass through.

Please send me a note and I’ll send you details to join. Or send me an email. We’ll meet in-person in San Diego from 9am to 11:30 but you’re welcome to join by zoom as well. A small breakfast will be provided. In-person space is limited to 12.

I hope you’ll come along to share in the quiet.