I am on a spiritual path, and that might take me to silence. In fact, when I moved to Banaras in December 2022, I intended for my life and my day to be completely in contemplation.
It’s been anything but. I’ve been traveling a lot. I’ve been working a lot (especially in the last 5 months), on my research as well as various pro-bono leadership roles, which requires me to talk and be active a lot. I’ve taken on several interns and mentees and that’s also a job that requires discussion.
So I thought I would write about some moments of silence I’ve experienced in my life.
When I was a teenager, I sat for a meditation led by a swami. I can’t explain how powerful that way. I was in complete silence, yet the energy that came in it was radiant, colorful like a rainbow, with 1000 suns bursting open a 1000 petaled lotus that resides at the top of my head, in the sahasrara chakra. While I cannot hear the swami’s voice anymore–or maybe just a little, but not in relation to this meditation–I remember the beautiful visualizations perfectly. I can see it, feel it, and hear it– all silent.
There was once a little boy, my first yoga student in India. He was around age 7 or 8. I had been teaching him for a few months. This child was normally jumping all around, unable to hold a practice for even a split second. I had been teaching him positive affirmations to help his hyperactivity reduce; statements like “I am relaxed” and “I am calm”. He would normally utter at the pace of 30 times in a minute, all the while relating to me other random thoughts. Today, I asked him to sit in vajrasana with his eyes and mouth closed, hands on his knees. There was no movement. There was no talk. Complete stillness and silence. Actually, I was scared something happened to him. I poked his shoulder, with no response. Then I asked him, “How are you?” The reply came slowly and surely: “I…. am…. Calm”. In his little 7 year old brain, he had internalized this idea and knew that he had come to that space.
I am all alone at the mountain, my mountain. Ayyasami Malai. In Karadi Madai. I watch from my perch on the roadside. I know this is my natural place. My nature place. My place. I am watching the mountain, my mountain, straining my neck upwards to see its peak. So great my mountain is.
Sometimes when I sit for meditation or chanting, I chant Om and acknowledge the Turiya, that great silence which comes between the chants. Everything is at rest, at ease, and I am completely at peace. I can hear the sound within.
There is always a time when I am alone in my home, or wherever I am. I might be driving or working, drawing or dancing…. Yet I perceive the silence, a sad silence of loneliness with a joy for being free. It is always a dichotomy.