I am called to silence. And to an inner peace that silence seems to imbue. It is visceral. It is powerful.
I am reading Donna Farhi’s “Bringing Yoga to Life“. I love how she demystifies much of yoga, making it more approachable. Part of what yoga aims to do is take you out of all your mind-whirling thinking to allow for a few moments of just being conscious without thought. She says, “Just as the impressions left by the constant stream of thoughts and sensations tend to propel more of the same, the impressions left through participation with the silent substrate of consciousness generates a flow of itself. Silence begins to flow through us as our fundamental state of being.” (Emphasis mine.)
Is this call to silence in me a call back to a fundamental state of being? When I go to my yoga mat in the morning, which I do prior to meditating, most days there is this call, this longing, this deep satisfaction at stepping on my mat and entering quietude.
Is it possible that our fundamental state is one of silence, of being present to the here and now? It is hard to imagine, enveloped as we are in thought from the moment we wake until the moment we hit the pillow at night. Yet, as Farhi points out elsewhere in the book, there are endless ways that we, in the course of our lives are fundamentally drawn to our inner selves, to that abiding calmness and quiet.
Perhaps a heightened alertness to a voice that may have been obscured much of our lives is one of the great benefits and luxuries of being older and of being retired. I could, I suppose, let the call be drowned out with all the stimulus the world offers us these days. But I have not. There is such peace in these few moments of my day. It is not as if my mind doesn’t wander constantly, for it does. But the simple act of stepping on the mat initiates an inner calming that is with me regardless of the wandering mind. It is lovely.