learning from silence
I've been working my way through Pico Iyer's new book Aflame: Learning From Silence. It's a fantastic read that describes Pico's multiple visits over decades to a Catholic Hermitage in the coast of California's Big Sur. The Hermitage is sparse of extravagant purpose; a retreat, so to speak, from the anguishes that may surround our hearts. It's situated on the coast, and (at least from photos) it is stunningly beautiful.
In a way, it felt like I myself was transported with Pico to the monastic life of a monk in each one of his visits. Pico wasn't a permanent resident of the Hermitage he frequented, but he was most definitely a frequent visitor.
It made me think: how do we define silence? Is it how we perceive silence in our lives, or the nature of not having unnecessary noise in the uber fast paced world we live in? I describe in a previous blog entry about living with tinnitus (the 3 month mark was 3 days ago) and it made me think about how people with tinnitus approach the Hermitage itself. Is it a bother to them? Do they notice it, and give it attention? Or is it merely background noise?
My hearing is, fortunately, 99.5% back. Recent hearing tests confirm this notion. But even amiss the hearing tests - the beeps and woos that you have to confirm you hear - sometimes, I think, I do indeed hear the beeps and woos. But the tinnitus blocks them from me hearing them accurately. So perhaps it is indeed true that my hearing has recovered, but tinnitus is something that I now may need to permanently learn to accept and live with. Maybe me holding onto the sentiment behind my hearing is partly why Iyer's book touched me so much. Despite the fame and wealth he's acquired in his travels, connecting to our humanity is what defines us most; not capitalism or the rat race. His book was a reminder of that.
Iyer's book also was a reminder that what makes us rich is already often here: deep within our minds, ready when we are. Pico himself has traveled the world extensively as a journalist, and yet, he chooses to return to the Hermitage year after year. That is deliberate, my friends - and his new book illustrates exactly why.
Perhaps I need to make a Hermitage of my own. Make my house a saunctuary from the noisy world that encompasses our present. I remember feeling a sense of calm in each of my visits to the Buddhist temples in Japan, or the lush gardens of the American west coast.
Perhaps, that's something we need more of.