Looking For Calm

We sat at breakfast on our last morning of silence, and he began to weep. It was quiet at first but became progressively louder. “I am sorry- I know we are supposed to be quiet, but I have experienced so much pain and suffering and yet I am so very grateful.” These words came out and I think we all, 76 of us gathered on retreat, held our collective breath for an instant and we were there with our friend, in his grief and in our own. For five minutes or more we all sat, listening to the sobs and soaking in the pain our friend was feeling. Was he crying for us all? Were we there bearing witness, in those moments, to our own suffering? Slowly, people began to move, taking their trays to the counter, clearing their dishes and stacking them next to the dishwasher. Several stopped to place a hand on Scott’s shoulder, lingering for a moment next to him. A couple of us had moved to sit with him, my hand on top of his, a cheek next to his back, hoping that somehow we could offer support and love during this time where he was completely exposed to us, his entire vulnerable being. His cries diminished and the dining room emptied further. I cleared my dishes and walked out into the sunshine. I felt like I was still holding my breath and once I felt the warmth of the sun on my face and my feet beneath me, I exhaled. I moved slowly toward the barn where our group would gather next. A new friend was passing in the opposite direction. We kind of acknowledged each other with a slight smile, even though we weren’t supposed to during this period of silence. I reached for him and enveloped him in an enormous hug. We stood there for what felt like a long time. I breathed and felt deeply the connection of the embrace. I was incredibly grateful in that moment, because the raw emotion that I had just witnessed had touched my heart. The emotion of spending two days in silence with only myself and a room full of strangers whose names I did not even know, came rushing to me and I all I could do was hang on to my friend with my arms latched tightly around him. Humanity is so precious. How often do we miss these moments. How often do we hold ourselves from sharing what lies deep inside us- afraid how others will receive us, afraid to really sit with the pain and suffering we all have endured? Going into silence was a gift, coming out of it, a process that needed to be tended to with a gentle heart.