Being alone, keeping a distance from people, and becoming silent are not only opportunities for someone on a ‘spiritual path’, these are opportunities for any human who wishes to stay sane.
I slowly get up from the table, watching the scene as though in slow motion, taking it all in with full attention. It’s a long table, about 30 of us, cousins, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, daughters, sons, parents, grandparents. The plates are half-empty, the glasses too, the wine bottles half full. The huge Sycamore is leaning over the scene in a soft embrace, her leaves gently following the whim of the summer breeze. I feel full in my stomach and in my heart.
I walk slowly toward the open forest, hearing the sounds of laughter and words, clanging of metal on porcelain. As I move away I notice my ears are still focused behind, as my eyes are looking at the lush green ahead. As I gain a little more distance, I’m more aware of the grass below my bare feet and instead of human voices I hear the song of the birds and the trees. I am aware of a strange silence, as I remove myself from words and submerge into the non-human soundscape. I am now aware of the subtle scent of mountain air. The late afternoon sky peeps in through the trees. I’m alone now, all the while surrounded by beings of all shapes, sizes, colors. I lean to the ground beneath me and marvel at the millions of creatures in it, the millions of processes that are happening silently, as I breathe in the life of the forest.
All this other activity silences me, my mouth and my mind. I am simply taking it in, a vast, endless being. Receiving, receiving… until eventually there no separation, no one there to receive, just a beautiful all-ness.
These are the kind of memories I have of moments in my childhood. Moments of distancing, of being alone, in a sweet and familiar silence. They were usually in nature. There is a draw, a magnetism in the womb of a forest or of the sea (if it’s tranquil), that I have felt my whole life.
I’ve seen this in my daughter, as well. When she was younger, she would recede into a little bubble of her own, marveling at her mud-covered hands and legs in her grandpa’s back yard, or at the sensation of freshly cut grass in her hands, the gentle laughter of little pebbles as the sea receded and approached the shoreline.
As she got older, however, people became more interesting, or perhaps more demanding, and she receded less and less. I’ve done that too. We forget that there is a world right here, that is of many layers and with endless opportunity for wonder. If we only take some time to experience it again, to recede into our little bubbles – away from man-made noise – and become quiet.
We’re so busy taking, chasing, expressing, achieving, pursuing, that we have forgotten how to receive.
To simply receive.
I find that, as Sadhguru says, being alone, taking time away from people and keeping silence are all means by which I can allow myself to simply receive. It’s such a relief, once you get used to it.
I have students that tell me how ‘hard’ meditation is, how ‘awkward’ silence is, and I tell them they’re just not used to receiving. Silence, at first, is about not speaking. Essentially though, when we don’t speak, we leave space. Space for the other, space for experience, space for the unknown. Space to receive. What makes it ‘hard’ is that we’re so invested in showing ourselves, aggressively taking up space, claiming, justifying.
I pause for a moment as I write. What am I receiving now? There is a bird in the distance. The hum of cars as they pass on the street. Someone is joyfully yelling at a friend on the street. The blanket on my legs feels so soft and warm. The taste of my last sip of coffee is still lingering on my tongue, and my stomach just let out a growl. My belly rises softly and falls with each breath cycle.
I can sit here for hours, so much to receive. As I come back to writing, back to expressing and pushing, I’m still aware of what I’ve just received. More aware of the sounds and sensations, I feel much more present and calm.
I think this is the ‘spiritual path’: Being awake and aware, receiving while taking. Tuned in to the rest of the orchestra while we still play our own little part.
