The Secret Value of Silent Days
It's Amazing to See What Happens When the Talking Stops
By Cat Saunders
Sometime in 1984, I started doing weekly "Silent Days." This
doesn't mean I sit in my room and meditate on my navel. Rather, I simply
don't talk during those 24-hour periods. This means no phones, no appointments
with counseling clients, and no conversations with anyone. I still do
whatever else I need to do, as long as it doesn't involve talking.
In addition to my weekly Silent Days and occasional longer retreats, I
also stopped talking in the mornings beginning in January of 2000. I've
always worked a 1:30-9:30 p.m. schedule with clients, so that hasn't changed.
However, observing silence in the mornings now helps me stay more balanced
throughout the day.
Recently I got out my calculator to estimate how many days I've spent
in silence during the last two decades. Putting my weekly Silent Days
together with occasional silent retreats, plus silent mornings since January
of 2000, I figure I've been silent more than four of the last twenty years.
I don't know exactly how I became so enamored with not talking. I know
that my father would sometimes go for long periods without talking much.
And when my brother, Scott, and I were kids, I remember one of my father's
favorite games was to ask Scott and me to "play dead."
"Playing dead" entailed Scott and me lying on the floor without
moving, talking, or giggling (not giggling was the hardest). The winner
was the one who stayed motionless and totally quiet for the longest time.
It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized the true purpose of my
father's game was to win himself some silence. Clever man!
When I was a teenager, I retreated into silence—at least at home—because
I feared my parents' criticism of the way I expressed myself, what I said,
and even the way I formed words with my mouth. By the time I was 18 and
away at college, someone asked me if I knew how to speak, because I was
so shy. It took me many years to come out of my shell.
Apart from familial influences, I'm a monk at heart, and I know that mystics
the world over have long extolled the value of silence. The spiritual
benefits of silence are reinforced by the physical benefits of it. Not
talking conserves energy and allows a more inward focus, which nicely
compensates for all the energy I expend caring for others as a counselor,
family member, and friend.
Since I've been with my partner, John Giovine, since 1987, people sometimes
ask how I manage to do Silent Days while living with someone. First of
all, John enjoys quiet as much as I do. Whenever my caretaker patterns
kick in and I get scared that I'm being "too selfish" or "too
quiet" or "too inward" or whatever, John just laughs and
says, "A silent woman is a good woman!"
John knows this sexist comment is always good for three things: it makes
me laugh; it assures me that he's fine; and it short-circuits my caretaker
script and puts me solidly back in my "wild woman" (who then
jumps on John for a playful tussle).
That reminds me. I definitely laugh on Silent Days. Laughing and talking
are as different as night and day. Laughing gets me out of my head and
into my body, which is always good.
Over the years, it's been fun to watch what happens between John and me
on my Silent Days. In general, I'm more verbal than John. However, on
the days I don't talk, John can turn into a veritable chatterbox—in
comparison to his usual self, anyway.
Apparently, my quiet self allows his talkative self to come out more.
Besides this, John has developed a hilarious female voice to mimic me
and supply my words when I'm being silent. John knows me so well that
he can usually discern what I'm trying to communicate simply by watching
my face and gestures. He then supplies complete sentences in his "Cat
voice" that perfectly express what I would have said if I was talking.
My favorite thing is when John carries on entire "conversations"
with me by speaking both parts. First he'll say something to me in his
regular voice. Then he'll watch how my face and body react to whatever
he says. Next, he'll adopt his falsetto rendition of Cat to speak my words
for me, and then he responds to "my" words in his own voice
again. It's quite entertaining!
In all the years John has been doing this on my Silent Days, I'd say he
has about a 95% success rate with expressing what I'd say if I was talking.
For those times when I need to say something more complicated than he
can guess, there's always pen and paper.
As for the secret value of Silent Days, I'm not telling! But there is
one way you can find out....
This article was originally published by Evergreen
Monthly (July 2004).
|
