Shutting Up
I've got ten minutes, people. And then I've got to walk the dog, clear my head, and go to a room full of second graders to present Paul Klee. Then I read to them out loud, then I take my mother to the ferry, then it's home for a quick dinner before swimming lessons followed by choir practice. Hallelujah! So much for Lent being a season of meditation and reflection.
But I like being busy. It makes my life feel as though it has immense amounts of meaning; sitting at home in silence, working on a story that won't take shape while my daughter watches Pingu on TV and I struggle with the hum of my own parent-guilt, that buzzing we all know so well that is the background noise behind the story that won't work and the multitudes of things that we should do. . .Well, those moments don't make me feel as if my life has any particular momentum.
Maybe that's why it's so hard to strip away all activity (including writing, talking, even humming), and sit in complete silence. Martin and I went to a Quaker Meeting for a few months--an old-school Quaker meeting. We walked into a room, joined the circle, and shut up for a whole hour.
I dare say that's the last time I was completely silent and still for an entire hour, without a cup of tea in my hands or keys under my fingers.
Of course, during that hour, my mind was never silent. It buzzed with a hundred things, mostly trivial and unorganized and on the edge of crazy.
Still, as I rush around, I've been thinking lately of all the people who sit still and quiet--the ones we call fanciful or a little odd or, worse, time-wasters--and I believe that's where the seeds of creativity--of genius, of true noble character--germinate. It's where art, adoration, music, and poetry find their voices and their colors.
Now all I have to do is clear my schedule, get rid of the kids and the dogs, and make a date for myself: SHUT UP. For an hour.
Now, that's a little scary, don't you think? You try it first and tell me how it goes. . . .
But I like being busy. It makes my life feel as though it has immense amounts of meaning; sitting at home in silence, working on a story that won't take shape while my daughter watches Pingu on TV and I struggle with the hum of my own parent-guilt, that buzzing we all know so well that is the background noise behind the story that won't work and the multitudes of things that we should do. . .Well, those moments don't make me feel as if my life has any particular momentum.
Maybe that's why it's so hard to strip away all activity (including writing, talking, even humming), and sit in complete silence. Martin and I went to a Quaker Meeting for a few months--an old-school Quaker meeting. We walked into a room, joined the circle, and shut up for a whole hour.
I dare say that's the last time I was completely silent and still for an entire hour, without a cup of tea in my hands or keys under my fingers.
Of course, during that hour, my mind was never silent. It buzzed with a hundred things, mostly trivial and unorganized and on the edge of crazy.
Still, as I rush around, I've been thinking lately of all the people who sit still and quiet--the ones we call fanciful or a little odd or, worse, time-wasters--and I believe that's where the seeds of creativity--of genius, of true noble character--germinate. It's where art, adoration, music, and poetry find their voices and their colors.
Now all I have to do is clear my schedule, get rid of the kids and the dogs, and make a date for myself: SHUT UP. For an hour.
Now, that's a little scary, don't you think? You try it first and tell me how it goes. . . .
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