What one hears when nothing is heard

“Silence is a music that speaks to the soul”, André Malraux

Dear Friend,

How are you doing today? I hope you're safe and well wherever you are.

November can be a tough month, filled with nostalgia. The days grow shorter, the air colder. Christmas cheer is still a distant glow. This month invites darkness and silence. In a way, it's a blessing. We have no other choice than to find light from within. 

The sound of the inkstone

Calligraphy is an art of silence.

I appreciate that the entire process is quiet.
Unlike woodturning or stone carving, there's no need for machinery or the constant tapping of tools.

The only sounds you hear are
the gentle rubbing of the ink stick,
the brush gliding across the paper,
and the slow breathing in and out.

Some people are uncomfortable with silence and emptiness. 
They experience it as a void, a place of lacking, death. 
Can you make peace with Death? 

But listen deeper. 
Look beyond the empty page and you will start to perceive. 
You will sense the vitality of each stroke. 

The real silence is the silence of the mental activity.
If you pick up a brush and try, you'll understand. 
Calligraphy is uncompromising with the Silence. 

The sound of ashes

During the last meditation retreat, the Master challenged us to sit in zazen with intense focus and determination.

He said, "One should be able to hear the sound of ash falling from an incense stick fifteen meters away."

At that point, I was halfway through the retreat and battling with a cold. My nose was congested or running, and focusing on breathing was difficult. 

My thoughts were dwelling on what a blessing it is, to be able to breathe through the nose… In many cases, we don't even notice our blessings, until it’s compromised.

During the long sittings, I shifted my attention to the sounds around me,
moment by moment.
I became acutely aware of my hearing.

In a meditation hall filled with eighty people,
there is silence but also breathing, coughing, sniffing,
and the occasional rumble of a belly.
Without judgment or discrimination,
my practice was to allow all sounds to come to me.

I couldn't hear the falling ashes,
but I began to notice the difference between truly listening with presence
and being lost in my own thoughts and narrative.

I realized I never really listened before. 
Like a radio, broadcasting constantly,
I am hearing my thoughts 
Rambling about this and that,
While existing sounds go unnoticed.
All the funny and sad stories 
clutter my sense of hearing
filter perception of reality 

Where is my attention? 

The sound of boiling water

The tea ceremony is also an art of silence.

If you search for "tea ceremony" on YouTube, you might get the impression it goes with Asian background music. Please don't grow that expectation.

There is no music and minimal conversation is exchanged between participants. 

The host lights a fire and places a kettle of water above it.
The sound of boiling water grounds you in the present moment,
a simple act of necessity.
Hence the name in Japanese for tea ceremony:
"Cha no yu" meaning "hot water for tea."

The atmosphere is filled with gracious hospitality, simple colors, dim lighting, and subtle sounds.

The continuous rumbling of the kettle sets the stage for other sounds:
the rustling of silk,
the clear strike of bamboo,
the sliding of footsteps...
and silence.

To attend a tea ceremony is to be a guest of silence.
What do you hear?

Only when you observe silence, Silence is revealed to you. 

Takes action today: 

Put a timer on for 5 minutes
and follow the instructions from Paul Valery ( french poet, 1871 - 1945) 

“Hear this fine sound that is continuous, and which is Silence.
Listen to what one hears when nothing is heard.”

See you,
Maden

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