Silent at the Cruz de Ferro on El Camino de Santiago
Last week, my thirteen-year-old grandson asked me to help him write an argumentative essay. It was part of his homework in his now virtual classroom.
I admit it. I had to look it up: An argumentative essay is a type of essay that presents arguments about both sides of an issue. Usually one side is presented more forcefully than the other to prove that the author’s point of view is right.
I’ve always loved words. I love how meaning is constructed with words. How fruitful and creativity-generating words can be.
But I’m becoming increasingly aware that too often my ego uses words to get what it wants. Not just when I’m writing an argumentative essay. When I use words to press a point with Ed, that’s what I’m doing. My ego chooses the words that make me look right.
But words used that way are often destructive rather than productive or creative.
As my world has become quieter during this time of social quarantine, I’m once again noticing the generative quality of silence — the richness that can arise from a complete lack of words.
Silence can absorb contraries, paradoxes and even contradictions. There’s nothing to argue about in true inner silence. Of course, this can make my ego a little bit crazy. It loves something it can take sides on, something it can be right about. Yet complete silence doesn’t allow me to take sides. There are no sides.
In 2013, Thich Nhat Hanh, one of the world’s most beloved teachers, wrote a guide to understanding and developing what he refers to as one of our most powerful inner resources — silence (Silence: The Power of Quiet in a World Full of Noise.)
The kind of silence the Zen master is referring to goes way beyond quieting my spoken word. It’s about quieting my mind. He’s talking about a form of knowing beyond thinking or mental analysis, and beyond emotional reactions.
But a quiet mind is not an empty mind.
Stopping my mental chatter is not the same as having a blank mind. There’s so much more to my mind than my inner self-talk. When my chatter stops, my mind is full of a spacious awareness that transcends feelings, emotions and thoughts. That’s why the state of quieting the mind is often referred to as mindfulness — mind-full-ness — or the mind being so full that there’s no room for argumentative words. It takes me beyond the dualities of right and wrong, good and bad, should and should not.
And the best part?
When I speak from a quiet mind, my words carry the power of the silence from which they arose. If I can first learn to silence my mind, then my words will almost certainly be more about wholeness than divisiveness, more about healing than about being right.
My thirteen-year-old grandson probably does need to learn to write an argumentative essay. I think it’s possible that we must first learn to argue before we can effectively put arguments aside. But if I never grow beyond arguing, my words will mean less and less, eventually meaning only what my ego wants them to mean.
Our current time of social isolation offers a perfect opportunity for me to practice quieting my inner chatter in favor of a deeper and more peaceful silence.
I am among the fortunate who have the opportunity to practice the peaceful silence that Marlena describes. There are far less distractions, things that must be done, programs that must be seen, etc. However, I feel a sadness and sympathy for many parents who are currently expected to work from home and also simultaneously expected to entertain and educate their children who are at home with them. Not much opportunity for peace or silence in their lives.
I fully agree with your assessment Marlena. Silence, when well directed, can calm our constant ruminating, but it takes effort. As much as one’s “inner silence” is important to allow the right rather than the argumentative words to surface, I find that the problem often lays in not waiting before speaking. Often, we are already blurting a response before our interlocutor has finished his or her sentence. Just as this pandemic has forced us into introspection, an isolation of the self combined with self-isolation (there goes a game of words, Marlena!), it has also helped me think before I speak. I am at home with only one person, my husband and best friend Daniel. This absolute togetherness can be a double edged sword, and the last thing I want is to create friction. I find that when I hold my words, when I think before I speak, when my inner silence steps in, my interaction is much more productive, loving and peaceful.
Such wise words, my friend! Thinking before I speak does mean I’ve quieted my own chatter enough to hear the other, doesn’t it?
My love to you both. Please tell Daniel that Ed and I are now – finally – far enough into our biographical novel that we’re drawing on his fabulous article about Evita — the one he spoke about on the cruise ship when we met you. Life really is delicious, isn’t it?
YesI Life is really delicious, mostly:)
I will pass on your message to Daniel. He will be happy to hear.
Stay well. Stay safe! Hugs to you both.