Noisy Silence!
The problem of the artist is to state the problem
It was the first night of the week-long silent Buddhist retreat. I’d never done anything like this before, but I’d always been game for trying it. I arrived anxiously early — ready for some down home, old fashioned shut up. From the train station shuttle van, to the check-in set of circumstances at the monastery, to dinner at the dining hall — everyone was surprisingly chattering away. What’s up, I steamed (silently) to myself? Where’s the silence celebrated in the brochure??
But — I was determined. I am not featuring any of my tried and true social skill alchemy — ITS NOT HAPPENING! (I silently screamed!) I had my heart set on ‘not talking’. I was amazed at how noisy the refectory was when 160 Buddhist devotees conversed. Several people attempted to engage me, but I wasn’t having it. BACK OFF! I’d nod pleasantly (with thick subtext), letting them know — “I’m not sure what’s up with all you chatty-cathys but I’m here to ‘not talk’ to anyone — and that means you!” Funny, I thought to myself — how much information I could pack into a nod — because it was effective. People steered clear.
After dinner, we gathered in the main sanctuary where there was more talking and now questions from the Zen peanut gallery to the organizer. Why is yoga scheduled during breakfast? Isn’t that a conflict? Can I get another pillow for my room? Are there still ticks in the woods? How high is up? Meanwhile I’m stewing (HELLO!! Silent retreat!!!) …. can’t we just write these questions down and pass notes? But no!! More questions…more answers. For Buddhist Christ, STOP talking!
Suddenly out of left field– it got still. And absolutely quiet.
Everyone dramatically shut up and stood up. The chatty collective instinctively knew when to stop talking and to stand. What signal had I missed? Ok, I get it. I figured it out. Our fearless Señor of Silence was making an entrance, so we stood. UP. We kept standing. We stood some more. We waited. Where is he?? Is he coming out or what?? Several techies ran back and forth. A microphone feedback rang out. Itching screeeetching silence. No yakking. More mic feedbacks. We stood. We waited. I thought (thoughts are silent right?) — I’m sure its been at least fifteen minutes. I started to inaudibly appreciate the fact — this quiet guy knows how to make a theatrical entrance. More scrambling of the techies. Everyone else was spell bound looking in a direction that he was for certain to appear. It was the best muzzle I’d heard since my arrival.
POOF — he appeared. The crowd went mute wild. Not a word. Not a voice. Genuflecting, prostrating, kowtowing, respecting, bowing from the hip, from the neck, from the knees, bowing on the ground and in the air. Everyone — except me. I mean…I hardly know the guy…we just met — like bam. I felt like a suit at a Grateful Dead ‘Be-In’. I tried my hardest to ‘be in’-visible (visually silent) …but my large statured bewilderment made it impossible. Bow, bows, more bowing. Phew. The unspoken began — with a vengeance.
He sat down.
And that was our cue — to sit down and SHUT UP.
It was wondrously wordlessly soundless.
Peaceful! Serene! Tranquil!
Hell yeah!! At last! I love that hushed noiseless sound. It’s what I came for!!
He began to teach.
How our confusion becomes wisdom?
It is our birthright to experience the love essence of our individual self.
Calm.
A tranquil wisdom washed over us unobtrusively.
A few months before, while at an artist retreat in the middle of woodsy mountainous New Hampshire, I was sitting at my work table on the porch of the lovely live-in studio I had been given as a haven for six weeks. I was only a few days into it when a good friend from NYC texted me: “What’s up? Hey, check it out. There’s a show on right now on NPR’s On Being about the important of silence and how it’s becoming more and more rare. It made me think of you.” He knew I was working on a series of talks to audiences of no one about nothing. I immediately found it online to listen to the interview. It felt ironic listening to a show about silence on the radio. But it was good. I soaked up the information. After it was over I moved my work table of the screen-in porch, further outside — just to the edge woods with now a breathtaking view of Mount Monadnock. For the next six weeks I sat at the table and listened to the sounds of my local environs and its inhabitants. Trees moving with the breezes. Crickets chirping for hours and hours. Bees busily visiting flowers. A coyote far over the hill. Owl hoots. Rustlings of deer on the path below. It became a daily ritual of eavesdropping to the symphony of broadcasts that surrounded me. It was never truly quiet — but instead layers of the most intricate poetic commotions of nature. I became a ‘sound of silence’ aficionado. And it was chocked-full of noise.
Meanwhile, back at the ashram…the Buddhist Master continued a meditation… lovely, golden, glorious silence. And…goddamnit
Noise.
A water bottle falls over.
Shuffling.
Someone scoots their chair over.
Scratching.
The silence is ruined!
Another water bottle falls over — a car crash on I-95.
Sniffles. A nose blowing – a locomotion-engine train is coming through town.
Tapping of feet — bulldozers clearing trees for a new development.
A rattle of plastic. (maybe another water bottle?) A NYC garbage truck with a new fresh fill to masticate.
The chair scoots over a bit more — it’s a NASCAR (not a RuPaul) drag race!
A coat falls off the back of a chair.
Sneeze.
I’m starting to get….no…I’m definitely agitated.
Lip smacking — hookers in the Amsterdam’s De Wallen.
Babbling disturbances — full steam ahead.
Tapping feet striking bangs on a hard surface — dead man walking…
Clearing of phlegm.
The chair again…just a wee bit more to the left for a better view.
Coughing.
A metal water bottle falls over — the Hudson River has escaped its banks and made way inside the sanctuary.
A devotee gets up to run out for…. (wait for it)
paper towels…
Sounds against the floor. It’s clear, they’ve decided to sand and refinish the vintage wooden floorboards.
Now…tapping. With added high top notes of chair squeaks. The orchestra is warming up.
Wrestling of a lozenge from captivity of its plastic sheath.
Rattles. It’s a break out. Someone’s trying to bust up, outa here!
Unrelenting, consistent (maddening) obsessive scrapes of synthetic clear rapping wrapped-up ness — sing halleluiah the lozenge is free at last.
And again, the scooting…” this is the last time I promise”, the scoot screams at me.
But the scoot lied — and does it again. Liar!
Shuffling (transposing).
Another coat falls — a slow motion avalanche of polyester and nylon-blend scraping, scratching, abrading the chair to its destination far, far below.
Pronounced breathing. Open up the doors to the castle!
Gasping, gulping inhalations. Help, help, I’m drowning!!!
Emptying, puffing exhalations.
Paper rattle. Shaking. Thundering — announcing its existence.
More heavily pronounced breaths. Blowing, whooshing.
Clearing of throats. Unblocking.
A nor’easter is quickly approaching I’m certain.
I close my eyes.
Nuances of secrecy where no one is to blame. Levels of mystery and misery.
Uproars are closing in all around me. I’m trapped, I got to get out.
Huh. But wait. What’s this??
My breathing? Stillness — punctuated with coincidental strings of modest rackets. Trees moving with the breezes. Listening silently to my breath…as I slowly glide back to the present moment with far away clamors from outside the sanctuary. A composition of momentary aural shifts and changes full of playful random reasons and remembrances of the present.
Where was I?
Music (to my ears). Noisy silence!