Screaming Sounds of Silence

Quiet sitting with Yoga Frog

Struggling with silence?  In this post I try to dispel some myths around silence, highlight my own fall from a pedestal I had put myself on, and give a few thoughts on how you might manage the silent class.

The back story
About 10 years ago I lived alone in Sri Lanka in a small room.  I had no radio or television.  Just a room with a bed, table, a little kitchenette, bathroom, and myself.

I was busy working and not at home that much.  When I was at home there was plenty of street noise going on.  A temple down the road chanting over load-speakers, horns horning, buses belching.  There was a war going on at the time so there were sirens wailing intermittently.

But at home there was never any spoken words.  I was by myself after all and am not prone to talking aloud.  But there were still the silent words.  The silent voice.  The one inside my head chattering, commenting, planning, and wondering.

When I was busy doing something like cooking or washing up or getting dressed or cleaning the floors or practicing my yoga it was less chatty.  The voice had only had a few things to notice or mention.

I relied on that voice most when I was not busy.  That was not much of the time mind you as I avoided non-busy time (more on that shortly).

I was a little smug that here I was living this life without the trappings of technology (no wifi or smart phones then either).  I would sometimes think I was on a good road to a simple and mindful life.

"I don't need a TV.  I don't need a radio," I would think.  I was pretty chuffed at what I thought was as my lack of attachment to those things.

Instead of radio or television or videos I sought out newspapers, books, and journals.  Things that I thought of as somehow better.  More nourishing brain food or mind food was the line of thinking.

Whenever I was not doing something I had those books or readings handy.  This included the 'not-doing' activity of eating.

One day I came home and realised I had read all of the newspapers that week, all of the books, and it was time for dinner at my little table and I had nothing to read.

I went into a panic.  The voice inside was a bit frantic.  'What will I do? What will I do? What will I do?'

It was a bit like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland looking at his watching saying 'I'm late, I'm late, I'm late' and just as anxious as well.

I could feel the anxiety in my body.  My heart pounding, body tensing.

I suppose I was lucky I had the good sense (and perhaps the good reading of a few books on Buddhism behind me) to stop and notice and think 'Hey, look at you all in a panic!'

To stop and ask, 'Is this something to really be worried about?'

And to have the presence of mind to be able to pause and wonder and realise in one of those eureka moments, 'By gosh, you have become attached to busy-ness.  And you have become attached to those words.  You think you are comfortable here on your own but you are not.  You need to anchor yourself to those words to distract you from being on your own.'

What I realised is that I had simply found something else to do to keep my mind occupied.   Far from being present and mindful I was just substituting one form of distraction for another.  Instead of moving images across a screen or sounds vibrating in my ear drums, or the movement of my body to rock and calm me, I had that voice reading aloud some words on a page.

When I was busy doing things and moving my body I found I did not need that voice--perhaps because I love movement and I love to sense the movement and I can go inside and just feel and sense and be.

But when I had to be still with something I was not particularly interested in (I have never been a foodie and I suppose some people would find it delightful just to feel and sense and be with their food and would never want to be distracted from that) I found I had an enormous challenge.

I had to be quiet, and pretty still, with just me and my thoughts to occupy me.

It was a bit scary.  I realise for me I was scared of my own thoughts.

Fortunately I had enough insight (but obviously not that much that it took me so long to realise this) and some basic practice in me that I could start to sit down and just eat that night without the need for  those written words.

Me learning some mindful eating!
Smiling away at this delightful dhal and pol sambol.

So I sat and ate in a much truer silence.  The silence of me, my body, and my food.  I continued that practice for some time.  It was hard and I suppose that is why it is called a practice.  I tried to just chew and eat and enjoy that experience.  It took much longer to eat and was a process of retraining myself for this simple task.  I tried not to allow myself to then get distracted by some internal mental chatter and would keep bringing myself it my eating and (again trying to apply some of the things I had been reading) perhaps just had some nice thoughts about the food and who had grown it or where it had come from (trying not to whizz away on other thoughts from there).  I guess it was an act of appreciation.

Sounds of silence?
You are never in complete silence.

Even if you can stop talking there are still sounds.

There are the sounds around you and the sounds within you.

Thoughts are not sounds but in the sense that you can 'hear' yourself talking they are.

My dad has chronic tinnitus and the fire alarms, as he calls them, that are going off in his head are not sounds to me but are a very real and disturbing noise to him.

There is stuff (very technical word) inside most of our heads going on all the time to produce some internal noise or clutter.

If you can sit and be quiet and manage to quiet your inner voice (very hard) you might notice your ears drawn to sounds like the birds chirping, your clothes rustling, maybe your stomach gurgling, a pulse in your ears.

Or, conversely, if you draw your attention progressively to those sounds you might help yourself to quiet your inner voice.

I have had meditation teachers who  have used that type of progressive turning of attention to various sounds as a way of supporting concentration on something other than your own chatter.

Our silent class that we rotate through every 9 or so weeks is another way of practicing silence and practicing drawing awareness to something else than 'hanging on' to the sound of your teacher talking you through how to do everything.

There is a time and place for verbal instruction but there is a time and place for letting go.

But without the teacher's words to hang onto what do you do with your auditory sense?

Language and language processing take up a massive part of our brain's processing capacity.  One of the reasons I believe you can feel so calm after a silent class is because your brain has not had to use all of some much energy on processing language.

But what if words are what you cling to?  Not just words but the sound of words?  Even if they are the sound of silent words you speak in your own head?

Suddenly, deprived of those external words from the teacher, you are left with no words but your own.  It can be difficult and even disturbing for some.

Trying to slow down this internal chatter is one of the most challenging parts of our practice.  And it is a practice.

So what can you do if you are in one of my silent classes, or even at the end of the class in meditation?

A few tips for the silent class and meditation
If your thoughts are really chatty and you find yourself caught in the whirlwind of their currents, you might need to anchor yourself to something else and draw your concentration to that.

If you have a part of your body that needs relaxing you could try to sense that part and do what you can in each posture to release and relax it.

You could try to bring yourself back to natural breathing, and just keep bringing yourself back to that.

You could try to bring yourself back to relaxing your tongue and lips--these are parts of the body that tend to get tense even without you thinking about it.

You could do a mental scan of your spine each posture and check in that it feels good and then do something about it if it does not.

All of these would be techniques of drawing your concentration to one (internal) thing.

You will likely find that you soon forget about that thing and your mind has wandered and you are thinking about something or chatting to yourself.  That is normal and ok.  Just notice that it has happened and remind yourself what you were trying to concentrate on or notice.  Try to be forgiving of yourself rather than judgemental at those times.

With that in mind it is perhaps helpful to think of something you could use at a sort of 'anchor' while you practice if you need it.  Perhaps think of it before you start the practice if you can.

Over time and with practice you might find you do not need that anchor to be firmly secured and you can allow yourself to float and wander free without flying away.

Being part of the group can help.

Some other thoughts I had would be, if you are in the class, is to make sure you keep some proximity to the group.

I tend to find that people positioned outside the group or way to the side tend to get more 'lost'.  A bit like Nemo swimming out of the reef.  The group practice is time to be a part of the group.  A part of that school of fish--swimming around and moving with the group.

It does not mean you are doing precisely the same thing.  I like to think of this silent group practice as like the troupe of Botswanan dancers I saw recently who kept a general rhythm and movement but still had individual personalities and moves that were distinctly their own.

You need to remind yourself to free yourself of comparison to others, that it is ok to be doing what you are doing.

Remember what I say at the beginning of each class?  Try your best, but without being attached to an outcome.  Without stress or strain.

Remember what I say before that?  The main purpose of this practice is to move circulation and energy through your body.  That happens best when you move slowly, stretch less, tense less, think less, and breathe less.  All of these things, done in excess, will actually block your practice.

Remember what I say at the end?  Be content with what you have done, and where you are right now.

It can be helpful to enter the silent class with an overall attitude that reflects you will try your best, without being attached, and being content with whatever comes about.  Who knows what it will be?

In sum
To be clear, I am not a meditation teacher.  I have some experience with it but I could never think to be telling people or teaching them about it.  But I have had some great teachers in the past.  If people ask me about learning meditation I try to pass them on to someone who has a long lineage that stems from a whole life practice and philosophy that supports a meditation practice.

To be clear, I am far from perfect in any type of practice.  I am still practicing.  I am practicing moving.  I am practicing being still.  I am practicing being a good person.  I still have lots of fails.  I still needs more practice.

To be clear, it is not that I am trying to suggest you stop thinking.  You won't.  You might, however, learn to be a little less attached to those words so you don't start flying away or get carried away with something that immobilises you from practicing and being.

As an addendum I remember saying to a lovely meditation teacher friend around this same time that I did not want my mind to be quiet.  I remember telling him how I wanted to have my overwhelming enthusiasm and joy and be able to speak all of those things and be awash in those lovely feelings.  I had misunderstood the essence of the inner peace and calm and joy of which he was speaking.

Perhaps I still misunderstand (very likely).  With practice I have come to sense that there can be a most wonderful glow of joy and peace that can radiate from this beautiful quiet stillness that is much more powerful and longer lasting than the temporary thrill of excitement that comes with an over-aroused nervous system.

And finally, to be really clear, my intent in writing this is to support you in a joyful and peaceful practice that is long lasting.  It is not to tell you what to do or what you should be doing.  If it does not feel right then don't do it.

Take care of yourselves and others.  And why not try all or some of these things in my upcoming yoga retreat!  We will be in Sri Lanka in April 2016 enjoying moving, breathing, nature, ourselves, and each other (um, don't read too much into that last bit!).

Much metta,
xosamantha

www.yogacafecanberra.blogspot.com
www.yogacafelk.blogspot.com

Practicing Calm

Practicing Calm: Four Benefits of The Silent Yoga Class

Every 9 weeks I teach a silent (physical) class.  My retreats always finish with a silent practice.  And in workshops I will usually have a ‘silent’ break somewhere in the middle.

Verbal silence that is for, as those who have ever tried some sort of silent practice will know, just because you stop talking does not mean things go quiet. 

In fact, the opposite can be true.  You start to hear other sounds more intently.  Other voices, the water trickling, the wind swishing, the sound of clothes rustling. 

It is why many teachers discourage people from leaving a class while others are meditating or relaxing; you might think you are being quiet but when the teacher stops talking all other sounds can be amplified.  

And even if we could be alone in a room, we still would not be in silence.  You start to hear the sounds of your breath, the sounds of the inner workings of your body—stomach gurgling, pulse throbbing.  And, unless you are a seasoned meditator, you will likely find your internal voice can take on a noise all of its own!

That said, a silent (physical) yoga class can help you in many ways.  Since I teach one every 9 weeks you will get to one eventually.  Below are some of the benefits you can expect. 

Letting go

First, it is a practice of letting go.  Without a teacher’s verbal instructions you need to ‘be’ where you are at that present moment in time.  Indeed, you cannot ‘be’ anywhere else.  When no one is telling you how to do bakasana or a handstand (or even something less complex), if you cannot figure it out, you need to let that pose go. 

That means you also get a snapshot of where you ‘are’ at that moment in time and what your level of readiness for particular postures is.  It gives you some insight into what you might need to cultivate further.

Going inside

Second, you gain an appreciation of just how much mental energy it takes to listen. 

Listening is a great skill.  It helps you to be a kinder, more socially able person. 

But language processing, even when people are saying helpful or kind things, takes up a lot of your brain’s capacity.

When you do not need to listen anymore you are free to follow your own internal voice and intuition.  Again, you become more in tune with what is going on with you at that moment in time. 

Many religious orders and spiritual retreats harness the insightful power of this type of silence.

Greater connection

But being in silence does mean being alone.  A third benefit is the amazing capacity of the verbal silence to enhance a feeling of connectedness. 

In a silent class you are not just doing your own thing entirely.  You are still following the basic movements and timing of the class.

And the silence combined with shared movement, helps you feel more connected to others in the group.  You sort of become a bit like a school of fish who move collectively—communicating via something other than spoken language.

The connection is not just to the group, however, because the silence of the group also helps you become more in tune with the environment.  You attain a keener sense of the ground beneath you, breeze and sun on your skin, wildlife around you, and the people passing by. 

Thinking less

A fourth benefit is that this type of practice can help you out of ‘over-thinking’. 

With no verbal instructions you have less to question—what does that mean?  What is she talking about? Am I doing it right? 

Over-thinking is one of things that can block movement of energy through our body and, as such, block feelings of overall wellbeing.  It can make us stiff, rigid, anxious, and prevent us from seeing clearly.

When we cannot ‘see clearly’ we do not feel at our best.  We tend not to make the best decisions. 

Practicing calm

These four things—letting go, going inside, a sense of greater connection to the group and environment, and thinking less—all help you to practice bringing about a sense of calm. 

Most people, at the end of the silent practice, find it easier to meditate and find the quality of their meditation much enhanced. 

We will be sharing some beautiful silent practices with you at our retreats and in the classes we teach around the world.  Looking forward to seeing you somewhere soon!

Silent Practice

This week I woke up with a dolphin squeak of a voice that rapidly turned into some sort of monster parody, which eventually forced my sister to ask me to stop speaking in front of her children for fear of giving them nightmares.

It seems to be laryngitis.  That is something I have never had before.

A few interesting things happen when you cannot speak.  Well, they happened to me and I found them interesting.

First, I realised that I could forget I had lost my voice because I was still chattering away inside my head.  It was very noisy in there.

Second, sometimes if you don't speak, people will just ignore you.  That's particularly frustrating when you feel like you have a lot of interesting things to say.

Third, sort of an extension of the second, I realised how language helps us feel connected to other people.  There were several incidents I found terribly amusing but found I couldn't share them as they were too hard to mime and I did not have a pen and paper.  Because I couldn't share them, they somehow didn't seem as funny.

Fourth, I also realised that you don't need to speak to share things.  It just makes it easier.  Charlie (the dog) and I have 'meaningful' (to me) cuddles and we don't say a word.  Lots of kids I worked with in Sri Lanka could not speak at all due to disability but we played and had lots of fun together.

Fifth, I realised that I am a very good yoga mime and sometimes people in classes do better when I just show and don't tell.

Here I will just insert an amusing anecdote on the subject of miming.  It has a loose relationship to yoga.

A friend organised a yoga retreat for me at a hotel in Sri Lanka.  She was German and ran a business for a particular subset of rotund German tourists who seemed to spend a lot of time swanning around in small, tight swimwear no matter the venue, and who relied on her to sort out even minor issues in their travel itinerary.

"My God, these people!" she exclaimed after a particularly challenging day of incessant visits from her speedo wearing countrymen.

"You think they cannot get dressed a little decently in the lobby?  No, instead, I have to sit at the desk with some man's crotch at eye-level and sort out their toilet paper for them!"

"Really!" she went on, not yet finished.  "Surely it is not that difficult to communicate you need more toilet paper.  You don't need language to do that!"

And right there she jumped up and began to mime wiping her backside, taking her had to an imaginary wall with an imaginary toilet roll holder and pointing at her hand and raising her eyebrows to show the surprise that there was no toilet paper.  It was very funny at the time.

But all this brings me to the matter of showing rather than telling and leading a yoga class in silence.

As though to pre-empt my laryngitis last week I, when I still had a voice, I got to a particularly tricky pose in the sequence (eka pada koundinyasa I).

"I am not going to give you verbal instructions here," I announced.  "Just watch me.  I will show you what to do."

And so I broke the pose down into component parts slowly, pausing at each stage, pointing and tapping the body part I was using or moving for emphasis.

And people did beautifully!

I do believe our body has its own intelligence and for a lot of people our thoughts get in the way of us just doing.

When it comes to backbends I often pause and just get people to watch what I am doing without too much explanation.

This is because I believe your cells 'see' things.  By this I mean that when your body sees another body moving beautifully and freely I believe our bodies just want to find that movement within itself.  If we allow it to move as it feels then we can often surprise ourselves and come into poses effortlessly.  This is something I learned from watching my great teacher, Paddy McGrath.

Having said this, instructions are important and there is a place for them, especially when you are new or if there is some 'inner' work going on (and there always is but often this inner work will come naturally if we let it).

However, I think we sometimes place too much emphasis on them.  We can over-instruct, over-think, over-analyse.

Over-doing anything will block the flow of energy through the body.   The primary purpose of my classes, as I say at the beginning, is to move energy through the body.  Over-stretching, over-tensing, over-breathing, and over-thinking can interrupt this flow.  This is something I learned from another great teacher, Simon Borg Olivier.

Anyway, that said, this week's classes will continue to be in enforced silence, with me miming and clicking my way through.  Use it as an opportunity to explore your own movement, let your cells 'see' and do, worry less about whether you are following every instruction, and just enjoy moving!

Hope to see you in class soon!

Much metta,

Samantha