Silence

            “Take a deep breath, exhale…then listen to the silence,” says Carol in her soft soothing Yoga instructor voice.  I lie on my back on the floor, arms and legs spread out, eyes closed trying to quiet my mind. I have come to the Asheville Yoga Center to try out a Restorative Yoga class.   But the word silence catches my attention. My mind goes off again as I struggle to reign in scattered thoughts.  I have been thinking about silence lately – mostly pondering where I find it in my life these days.

            Last October and November, before Mother’s death I sensed a change as she slowly began to withdraw from life.  I would go to her room, find her in her wheel chair or in her soft cozy armchair awake but quiet.  She was happy to see me when I came close and she knew it was me.  Following our ritual of a cup of tea and a cookie I would share tidbits of news mostly of the family. She would listen in her quiet way.  Some afternoons she spoke very little.  At first I filled in the spaces with my chatter.  Then, I too, began to let go and give in to the long pauses.  Sometimes I simply held her hand. There was a comfort and closeness just being together.  I learned that words didn’t seem necessary. Silence was soothing but this was a change.

            I remember all the years I came “home” to Hawkcrest in Vermont from other places. It was a near spiritual experience to drive up the steep windy roads of Gt. Hawk Mountain, slowly leaving the “real world” behind. Alighting from the car at the top of our driveway I would simply listen to the quiet around me. At first it was almost deafening.  For the first few days there was only the whisper of the trees blowing in the breeze and an occasional car going by on the dirt road below us.   I remember all of it as the deep exhale in Yoga breathing - letting everything else go to be here in the moment. On my mountain in Vermont I learned to savor the complete silence.

            Now that I don’t go back to the mountain in Vermont I look for quiet in other places. On Sunday mornings at the Unitarian Church in Asheville I savor the Silence and Meditation - the time when Mark Ward says a few words for us to think about in his soft “ministerial” voice. Then, there is complete stillness in the sanctuary except for the occasional siren or car going by the church - sounds from the outside penetrating the silence or an occasional throat clearing reminding me that there are many others in this place. On hikes through the woods if I am far away enough from Asheville, there is welcome quiet and yet inevitably there are planes flying overhead and the distant sound of traffic even on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It’s not the same.

            Silence has entered my life in a different way since Mother died in early December.   As I have grappled to adjust to a world without her, I think of my loss as a different form of silence. I mourn her absence but at the same time I carry her within me each and every day.  I am accepting my world without her remembering that in the silence of her absence she is always with me.  

 October 1, 1919 - December 6, 2014