Lessons From A Silent Retreat

Lessons From A Silent Retreat

I guess that – maybe – in my frantic preparations to pack for the five-day mindfulness retreat, I may have missed the instructions. I knew to bring loose clothing for yoga, comfy outfits for long stretches of sitting meditations, and plenty of paper to write down my reflections along the way. I knew to bring an appetite to engage in new practices, to be ready to come out of my comfort zone, and that – despite the relaxing allure – the days would be end-to-end, filled with hard work.

So when I sat down for the opening session and looked down at the agenda in front of me, I mentally checked off all the activities ahead that I knew to expect. Yoga? Check. Meditation? Check. Study? Check. 18 hours per day in silence? Not so much…

Somehow I had missed the note about silence in the description of the retreat, and all of a sudden I felt completely unprepared for the days ahead. How would I connect home? How would I process my experiences? If the meals are bland, how would I ask people to pass the salt?

Day 1

Five minutes into it, I get it. I totally get it. The silence is beautiful. The birds outside are cooperating nicely and chirping a magnificent backdrop for our first moments of silence. I’m steadily approaching Bliss.

Ten minutes in, I’ve achieved Nirvana. I am pure consciousness. This is what it’s all about, folks. I peek around the room, wondering if my fellow participants have joined me on this new, higher level of being. A thought creeps into my head: It could get lonely up here.

Twelve minutes in, I start thinking about my kids. Then my wife. Then work. Then work some more.

Seventeen minutes in: When’s lunch?

Day 2

Leading up to the silence, I become intensely anxious. I spend the first 20 minutes of silence watching my mind race back and forth between things I have to do back home and reasons why a silent retreat isn’t right for me. When my mind finally exhausts itself, I enter into a true silence, and observe what happens.

My shoulders start to relax from their perpetual tightness. My breath slows down, and my heart rate follows suit. It only lasts for a few precious moments, but precious they are.

Days 3 through 5

Follow this trajectory as I slowly give myself up to the silence, and observe – happily – the results. When we come out of silence for the final time and circle around for the closing session, I assign myself some homework. In addition to the regular meditation practice that is a required part of this program, I also push myself to experience more moments of silence. So – in silence – I write out my challenges:

  1. Spend the first 15 minutes at work without talking. What do you hear?
  2. Every day, walk around the block once or twice without talking. Resist the urge to multitask and make a phone call by leaving your phone behind.
  3. Next time you’re in a coffee shop or restaurant by yourself, try eating or drinking without talking to anyone, and without relying on your phone for entertainment. Does the coffee taste different? Does the food?
  4. In the car, try turning off the radio and driving in silence. What thoughts come to mind?

I don’t know what I will discover in the silence to come, but – after surprising myself by surviving five days of it – I’m eager to find out.


Elan Babchuck

A community organizer by training and entrepreneur by nature, Elan Babchuck has served as a rabbi at Temple Emanu-El (www.teprov.org) of Providence, Rhode Island since July, 2012, after he was ordained by the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies and earned his MBA in Non-Profit Management. He is the first-ever religious leader to be named one of Providence Monthly?s ?10 to Watch?, and his primary focus is on building barrier-free Jewish communities that empower the individual and inspire lived practice.

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