Thursday, October 4, 2007 at 12:12am
Be still, my soul
Column: wavelength
I like to talk. When I tell you a story, I am the queen of details and parenthetical asides. I want you to have the full — and that is full with a capital "F" — picture. You will be presented with every nuance, possibility and footnote. I want you to have the complete and full-length scenario. I want you to see, sense, feel and know what I am telling you — and I look forward to the same from you.
There is no Readers Digest abridged version; I give you the "War and Peace" of storytelling and conversation. If you engage in conversation with me, pull up a chair and pull out that teapot or uncork that bottle of wine. This is not for the faint of heart or the time-challenged; we are engaged for the long haul of debriefing and analyzing and exploring all avenues in our respective lives.
In more than one circle, I am known for my gift of gab. I am a veritable Chatty Cathy. So, why is it that I now find myself speechless in London?
I can sit for extended periods of time in silence. I can be in a car with a friend and say nothing for miles on end. I can enjoy a dinner party without being the raconteur. I am happy being quiet. What's happened to me? Have I been taken over by pod people?
I have a few working theories.
Theory One: I have run out of things to say. Wild thought, but maybe there is no more activity in my cerebellum; maybe my opinion maker and judgment placer have gone on hiatus. In other words, I am thoughtless and, therefore, speechless.
Theory Two: I am full. The words have been taken over by the experiences. There is nothing more to add, to say, to do. I have reached a point of maximum satiation. I am reveling in the completeness of the here and now.
I vote for Theory Two, which brings with it a brand-new realization: the realization that I can sit in silence, rest in the moment and simply be. Wow! I guess this is what the monks and mystics have been talking about throughout the ages.
Now, don't get me wrong. I have always enjoyed my quiet time. I need the space and peace to recharge my batteries and refuel my soul. My chattiness notwithstanding, I require solitude on a regular basis as mandatory personal maintenance.
However, I have come to understand that there are varieties of solitude. The solitude I am experiencing now is of an internal nature as opposed to unplugging the phone and creating a hushed environment where all external stimuli have been diminished or relegated to the back burner. I can be as calm as I want in my apartment, but if my brain is going clickety-click at 90 mph, how quiet am I really? There is all that internal chatter — again, more talk, this time between me and me.
What is happening now is that there are broad stretches of time when there is no conversation, be it internal or external. There is no active thinking, plotting or planning. There is silence all around — beautiful, peaceful, healing silence from within and without. I have no need to do; I can simply be. This is a new destination. I am not sure they stamped my passport here on the Isle of Now Silent, but I like it here. I think I will come again.
Clearly, there has been some adjustment. My baggage, as you may well have guessed, has been left behind. I entered this isle unencumbered. There is nothing to hoist, carry or drag through customs. It is simply little ol' me walking through the doorway and onto the Isle of Now Silent.
The air feels different here. It is not charged with any kind of tension or expectation. Moreover, I find myself prone to taking very deep inhalations.
Time is amorphous here; I feel as if I am simply floating through non-linear space.
And most amazingly, I find myself at rest on both the outer and inner planes. That feels the oddest and most unusual to me. There is no push/pull, yin or yang, light or dark, good or bad. I have found, at least for the moment, that elusive oneness — oneness with myself, with my environment, with the world and, needless to say, with Spirit. I feel connected to everything. It all feels like a piece of the whole, a whole of the peace.
And my mind's analytical ways are certainly missing; they never gained access to this isle. There are no great thoughts; there is simply resting in the moment on this heavenly rated Isle of Now Silent.
This, to me, is the ultimate in restorative and healing vacations. The price is certainly right, and you can go for as short or as long as you wish. There are no limitations here, and you come away feeling full, whole and complete. That's a pretty good vacation.
You might want to connect with your internal travel agent through meditation, prayer or ritual; I am sure they can book you a room with a view.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.
There is no Readers Digest abridged version; I give you the "War and Peace" of storytelling and conversation. If you engage in conversation with me, pull up a chair and pull out that teapot or uncork that bottle of wine. This is not for the faint of heart or the time-challenged; we are engaged for the long haul of debriefing and analyzing and exploring all avenues in our respective lives.
In more than one circle, I am known for my gift of gab. I am a veritable Chatty Cathy. So, why is it that I now find myself speechless in London?
I can sit for extended periods of time in silence. I can be in a car with a friend and say nothing for miles on end. I can enjoy a dinner party without being the raconteur. I am happy being quiet. What's happened to me? Have I been taken over by pod people?
I have a few working theories.
Theory One: I have run out of things to say. Wild thought, but maybe there is no more activity in my cerebellum; maybe my opinion maker and judgment placer have gone on hiatus. In other words, I am thoughtless and, therefore, speechless.
Theory Two: I am full. The words have been taken over by the experiences. There is nothing more to add, to say, to do. I have reached a point of maximum satiation. I am reveling in the completeness of the here and now.
I vote for Theory Two, which brings with it a brand-new realization: the realization that I can sit in silence, rest in the moment and simply be. Wow! I guess this is what the monks and mystics have been talking about throughout the ages.
Now, don't get me wrong. I have always enjoyed my quiet time. I need the space and peace to recharge my batteries and refuel my soul. My chattiness notwithstanding, I require solitude on a regular basis as mandatory personal maintenance.
However, I have come to understand that there are varieties of solitude. The solitude I am experiencing now is of an internal nature as opposed to unplugging the phone and creating a hushed environment where all external stimuli have been diminished or relegated to the back burner. I can be as calm as I want in my apartment, but if my brain is going clickety-click at 90 mph, how quiet am I really? There is all that internal chatter — again, more talk, this time between me and me.
What is happening now is that there are broad stretches of time when there is no conversation, be it internal or external. There is no active thinking, plotting or planning. There is silence all around — beautiful, peaceful, healing silence from within and without. I have no need to do; I can simply be. This is a new destination. I am not sure they stamped my passport here on the Isle of Now Silent, but I like it here. I think I will come again.
Clearly, there has been some adjustment. My baggage, as you may well have guessed, has been left behind. I entered this isle unencumbered. There is nothing to hoist, carry or drag through customs. It is simply little ol' me walking through the doorway and onto the Isle of Now Silent.
The air feels different here. It is not charged with any kind of tension or expectation. Moreover, I find myself prone to taking very deep inhalations.
Time is amorphous here; I feel as if I am simply floating through non-linear space.
And most amazingly, I find myself at rest on both the outer and inner planes. That feels the oddest and most unusual to me. There is no push/pull, yin or yang, light or dark, good or bad. I have found, at least for the moment, that elusive oneness — oneness with myself, with my environment, with the world and, needless to say, with Spirit. I feel connected to everything. It all feels like a piece of the whole, a whole of the peace.
And my mind's analytical ways are certainly missing; they never gained access to this isle. There are no great thoughts; there is simply resting in the moment on this heavenly rated Isle of Now Silent.
This, to me, is the ultimate in restorative and healing vacations. The price is certainly right, and you can go for as short or as long as you wish. There are no limitations here, and you come away feeling full, whole and complete. That's a pretty good vacation.
You might want to connect with your internal travel agent through meditation, prayer or ritual; I am sure they can book you a room with a view.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.