The Shifting Sands of Silence

Ignorance by Philippe Jaccottet trans. by Derek Mahon from Words in the Air (Gallery Press)
The older I grow,the more ignorant I become,
the longer I live, the less I possess or control.
All I have is a little space, snow-dark
or glittering, never inhabited.
Where is the giver, the guide, the guardian?
I sit in my room and am silent:  silence
arrives like a servant to tidy things up
while I wait for the lies to disperse.
And what remains to this dying man
that so well prevents him from dying?
What does he find to say to the four walls?
I hear him talking still, and his words
come in with the dawn, imperfectly understood:

'Love, like fire can only reveal its brightness
on the failure and the beauty of the wood.'


Meditation has been on my mind a lot lately.  Specifically, my meditation practice and how my experience of it shifts continually like sand beneath my feet, yet somehow it manages to keep me anchored and stable in a way nothing else really can or does.  Just when I start to think I'm getting a handle on this discipline of silence, things go topsy turvy and the way I approach the silence changes. 

When I first began I greeted it with enthusiasm, welcoming it like a new and interesting friend, wanting to get to know it better.  Then I moved into a period where it was uncomfortable and challenging.  Off and on it feels like drudgery, something that has to be checked off my to do list (and when I'm in this phase I confess it often remains undone).

A little over a year ago I went through a phase where no matter how much I tried to settle my mind, I couldn't stop thinking about the mechanics of what was supposed to be going on in the silence.  It was as if I knew too much about the process to let the process happen.  Removing the label of the type of meditation I do from the period of silence took away those expectations and helped me move past that obstacle.

Last summer  I reached a point where I realized that my morning practice had become an unconscious part of my routine.  Along the lines of deciding when to get dressed or what type of tea to have in the morning, it was a decision made without judgment, based on a simple assessment of what I needed when. 

Lately, however, I've felt like the line in the middle of today's poem.  I don't know if I'd say I'm waiting for lies to disperse-- maybe more illusions or attachments, definitely charged emotions-- the meditation lets the dust settle so silence can begin the tidying up process. 

So, a little spring house cleaning seems to be underway in my soul.  What's stirring in yours?