What
does it mean to find a stillness? Are we
talking about an inner stillness? A
stillness in the environment around us?
Is stillness quietness? Is there
any such thing as ultimate, complete stillness?
Currently we find ourselves in what the Christians believe as the period
of Advent. A period of waiting for the
birth of the baby Jesus; a period of stillness if you will. For some Christians this is a time of
patience; others experience Advent as a time of preparing for this special
event, and for others Advent is a time of wondering.
I have been thinking about Advent and
how we are all preparing for a life changing event—the coming of the Covid-19
vaccine. While this is not a divine
event—even though it may feel that way to for some of us given the rise in
Covid 19 infections and deaths right now--I think many of us are trying to be
patient, knowing there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Some of us are preparing for this vaccine; I
read Saturday that scientists are researching what we will need to do as we
wait for the vaccine. Some are saying
that we should check our expectations.
If we think that everything will be back to normal, we should probably
put that expectation aside. Data from past
epidemics indicate it took years before things returned to some semblance of normal. I talked with a member of this congregation,
Andie Arthur this week, she wondered if after the vaccine is widely distributed
whether the country would celebrate like in the roaring twenties—you know, after
World War I and the pandemic of 1918.
But here's the thing I have been
wondering during this time of stillness in our homes and waiting for a vaccine,
this time of world-wide Advent, what meaning will I assign to this time of
personal stillness, so that I can move forward with intention in my life. And what is the meaning I will make from this
world-wide stillness so that I can put it into some perspective. And then maybe I can decide how I will fold
these meanings into what I may be called to do when this Covid 19 Advent time
ends.
I have been thinking back on a time
when the experience of stillness was on my heart and mind almost as much as it
is now. Several years ago, I decided to literally
embrace stillness and silence. Not just
the silence of sound, but silence from the sensations of touch, sight, smell,
taste, even my kinesthetic sense, my sense of movement. And not just simple bodily stillness, not
just environmental stillness, but such profound stillness of body and
environment that the only thing I would be aware of would be the activity of my
inner self. I decided to submerge myself
in a sensory deprivation tank. I
remember the attendant telling me "be patient", to have no
expectation that I would be calm or relaxed during my first session, that in
fact I would probably feel some anxiety and have difficulty remaining in the
tank for the full hour. Most people
could not make it through their first session.
But if I could make it through the anxiety of the first session, the
next session would be wonderful, amazing, more peaceful than I had ever
experienced, at least that is what the attendant said. I asked if there was anything I could do to
prepare, the attendant said to be intentional about staying in the tank and
open to whatever I experienced. I
wondered if I was making a good decision about doing this sensory deprivation
tank thing.
I entered the small, shallow room with
the tank, I took my clothes off, opened the tank, and with fear in my heart, I
took a deep breath, and stepped in. I
felt like I was entering a sacred space, almost like a monastery, one in which
you couldn't talk and would be expected to do nothing, but contemplate.
I had always loved the silence and
stillness I found in the cavernous Catholic churches when I was an altar
boy—especially before those 5 AM services when no one was there and I could
fully embrace the responses that the stillness and silence elicited in me, a
feeling of connection to something larger than myself and a connection with who
I am deep inside. I felt a groundedness
and calmness I did not often feel. And I
wanted to feel that again as I entered that tank, despite my fears.
So I enclosed myself in a tank with no
sound, no smell, in complete darkness.
The salt water floated my body.
The temperature of my body, the air, and the water were all 98.6. All that I was aware of was the internal workings
of my body, the jumble of thoughts in my mind, and my erratic, reactive
emotions. For the next hour, I submerged
into the stillness, into the silence and into myself.
I invite you to close your eyes for
just a moment, and imagine yourself entering a sensory deprivation tank, total
darkness, no sense of touch or movement, not even any movement of air against
your skin, no sound except those made by your own body or in your own mind; you
are completely cut off from all external stimulation. (silence) What did you notice? Was your heart racing at
the prospect? Was your mind distracting
you or finding reasons why this would not be a good idea? Did you want that time to be over?
Oh, I forgot to tell you that the
attendant also told me that the first time that I enclosed myself in the
sensory deprivation tank that I would face my worst fears—my out of control
thoughts and images, my erratic emotional swings, the minutest physical
sensations within my skin. The therapist
who owned the sensory deprivation tanks told me that we all use the noise of
external stimulation to distract ourselves from what is really going on inside
ourselves. They assured me that I would
face those things that I, either consciously or unconsciously, was trying
desperately to distract myself from. Good
grief. I did face my fears very soon
after I entered the tank. I saw racing
images— Freddy Krueger from the Nightmare on Elm Street movies—I watched too
many of those ‘durn’ movies. I saw
myself helpless before people who were stronger and smarter than I am—and realized
that sometimes I have irrationally felt that most people were stronger and
smarter than me. I saw people trying to
hurt me. I heard sounds—like those songs
you can’t get out of your head, earworms like Kung foo fighting, fast as
lighting. I felt sensations that I could
not stop—like itching all over, like feeling dizzy and nauseous, which is
something I’ve always dreaded—like feeling suffocated, unable to breath;
another deep fear. Yet even as I
experienced all these, I stayed in the tank.
I came to the realization that I could feel all my fears, see and feel
those things that I was most scared of, and not die. I was uncomfortable for a time facing those
dreaded memories, images, and internal physical sensations, but I passed
through them without letting them control me, without getting out of the
tank.
When I finally embraced my fears,
accepted all of what I was experiencing, I noticed that I was exhausted,
sweaty, and my heart was still beating rapidly.
I emerged from the tank just as someone came to the door to get me
out. I made it. My first hour in the tank was done. As odd as this may sound, I immediately
signed up for another hour, which occurred a couple of days later. I wanted to continue this, sometimes deeply
unsettling, yet ultimately enlightening, journey into stillness and silence, and
into myself.
Author Barbara Erakko Taylor (Silence)
wrote: Silence. A word that evokes
images of aloneness, of vulnerability, of having to face one’s inner
world. We say we want a deeper spiritual
life, yet we deny it by avoiding perhaps one of the most crucial
elements—silence. We are afraid of it.” I believe that we all need times of silence
in our lives, and –let’s be honest—silence is scary. We avoid it by having the TV on while we are
working around the house just for the noise.
We avoid it by blaring the radio when we drive. We avoid it by finding whatever stimulation
is possible in our world; we embrace noise all the time; you might say we wallow
in it. Our world is full of
opportunities for noise. Yet we rarely
if ever do we seek out times to be still, do nothing, embrace silence.
As a psychotherapist, I often heard
from my patients that they were afraid to be still or silent. They were afraid to face the bogeyman that
chased them constantly; the bogeyman who grows bigger and more frightening the
faster they tried to run. Sometimes in
the silence of dreams, the bogeyman can manifest itself. I remember a man who said that he dreamed
about running away from a Tyrannosaurus Rex; the faster he tried to run, the
slower he seemed to go—like he was running through molasses. He woke from these nightmares heart racing,
sweating and deeply afraid. In
discussion with this person, he came to realize that he had these nightmares
when something was troubling him in his heart—a situation he was afraid to face
or guilt over hurting someone else.
When you try to stop and face the
bogeyman, your feelings and your fears will encourage you to find noise, to
keep moving, to distract yourself from the ever encroaching monster that
resides in your heart and mind. I
remember a young woman who would sew placemats and napkins in the middle of the
night. She was afraid of being still in
the silent dark of her home. She tried
on many occasions to lie down in the silent darkness of her bedroom, her heart
would race, and she would be so afraid and agitated that she had to do
something—thus sewing became her noise to keep her fears at bay.
When you finally stay still and
silent, when you finally realize that your fears and feelings won’t kill you or
damage you, then you realize you can face what is inside you, then you make
peace with yourself. I am going to add
an addendum here; if a person has a significant psychological problems or needs
psychiatric medication, this process of being silent, facing fears, etc. may
need to be done with the help of professionals—not alone. Ultimately by embracing stillness and silence,
you begin to learn more about yourself, and you begin to experience a startling
new connection to mystery, God, to others, to humanity.
Being quarantined in our houses, some
of us unable to physically contact another human being, wearing masks that keep
us from really seeing the expressions of those around us, masks that sometimes
muffles the speaker's words, has somethings in common with being in a sensory
deprivation tank. Many of us have looked
for ways to distract ourselves from this stillness and silence of this Covid 19
time offers, just to cope. But now my
friends there is light at the end of the tunnel. The vaccine is coming. And now is a time we can begin to embrace the
stillness with hope that we won't be stuck in our homes for the rest of our
lives. This is our Covid-19 Advent
time. Now is the time for you to close
the lid on your metaphorical sensory deprivation tank, face your fears, and
open yourself to wondering about what meaning this time will have for you.
Ohiyesa, an early Sioux author, wrote:
“[The Native American] believes profoundly in silence—the sign of a perfect
equilibrium. Silence is the absolute
poise or balance of body, mind, and spirit…[a person] preserves [their]
selfhood...[by remaining] calm and unshaken by the storms of existence—not a leaf,
as it were, astir on the tree; not a ripple upon the surface of [a] shining
pool--… If you ask [Ohiyesa]: “What is silence?” he will answer “It is the Great Mystery!”
“The holy silence is the voice [of the Great Mystery]”.
Silence and stillness can provide us
with opportunities to bring ourselves back into balance. The ever-present, ever distracting noise
around us obscures our interior lives, makes us oblivious to the changes that
go on inside ourselves, distracts us from the changes in ourselves, others and
the world, and distances us from our connection to mystery, to God, to our
common humanity. Internal noise comes
from embracing what is not self and not mystery. We all have to embrace what is not self and
not mystery in order to function in the world, to work, to talk, to eat, to
drive, to be in relationships. But if we
only embrace noise then we lose our true selves. And my concern is that many of us have lost
parts of ourselves by resisting the opportunity to embrace stillness and
silence during this time when stillness was imposed on us and the future was far
from certain.
During this time of expectant waiting
for your shot of vaccine, perhaps it is time to have an intentional Advent
experience, you might make time to submerge in some stillness and silence. Maybe start out with a few minutes, then
gradually stretch it out to twenty or thirty minutes. Let yourself face what has accumulated within
you during this last year, discover how you have changed, experience your body--
knowing it has changed too. Then you can
make an informed decision about how you will incorporate these learnings to
better understand who you are now and what you are called to do when this
season ends. Yes, you and I and many
others will probably celebrate like it’s the roaring twenties when we get the
vaccine, but beyond that we will also need to decide what work calls to us
after we celebrate. We don't need
another decade of celebration like the roaring twenties. We need a new world. A world where we treat one another with worth
and dignity; a world of peace, equity, justice, and compassion; a world with
stable democracies; a world where we affirm and promote the interdependent web
of all existence. Let stillness be your
guide to this new world. Find a
stillness, hold a stillness, let the stillness carry you.
