Without a word...

Early Sunday morning is the best time of the week for a run. The world is still asleep and it’s quiet out there. Alone with my thoughts, I decided that I have a growing appreciation for silence, especially for the absence of words either spoken or heard.

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve had a chance to learn more about the Quakers and their often completely silent church services. On the occasion when someone is moved to speak, they must first carefully consider their motive and keep their words brief; one-to-three minutes. No responses allowed. A Quaker meeting is not a discussion group.

Recently, two sons, two daughters, two daughters-in law, two sons-in-law, six granddaughters, six grandsons and a special girlfriend gathered for an intense couple of days of acting and reacting with each other. There wasn’t a single moment of silence until they shipped out, on their far-flung and separate ways.

Only in the silence that descended following their visit, was I able to reflect and fully appreciate the person each of the grandchildren has become. Only two of them were alive to know the grandfather of them all, and they were so very small. In a quiet moment after they were all gone, I had time to reflect on the part of him I can see in each of them, more and more clearly as they become adults. He left his mark in unexpected ways.

I think I watched or heard way too much of the Republican National Convention last week. It left me in need of quiet. I suspect the Dems will do the same this week.

It was my conversation with Meg, who invites a small group to her home each week for silent meditation and who spends about a quarter of her life not speaking at all that sent me on this silence kick. She’s been attending silent retreats for as long as two months at a time for 30 years and the practice has sustained her for all that time. “I wouldn’t be here today without silent meditation,” she told me.

It is interesting to me how uncomfortable moments of silence can make us feel. Lulls in a conversation can be downright disconcerting. Sometimes I find myself making senseless idle chatter to fill the void. I hope I can do that less often.

On the road this morning, I didn’t talk. There was no one to talk to. There was no one for me to listen to. I came home renewed. Sometimes less is more and nothing at all just may be the very best.