The sound of silence.

Photo by Jason Rosewell on Unsplash

Today I attended my very first satsang. While I've been to many events that modeled this format in my life, to participate in a proper one following vedic traditions in India is another experience entirely.

At the same time, I've been facing a looming deadline to deliver the first draft of my talk to the producers at Speakers Who Dare, where I'll be taking the stage at the end of March in New York City.

I'll be honest, March, and New York City, and that talk, feel very far away right now.

I've sat with my computer at times when I'd much rather be roaming the streets exploring, willing myself to write. I've meditated in my freezing bedroom (it gets COLD here at night), down by the river, while eating my meals, praying for downloads that would make the words of my talk more easily accessible for me.

And all I've gotten is radio silence. Which is about on point for how I feel right now.

At times I've wanted to throw my computer into the Ganga, sure that saying anything at all would be a disservice to humanity. So much of my heart just wants to sit in prayer, song, and meditation right now, far away from technology. I so desperately want the world to wake up to just how much happens in the space between, even though I, too, occasionally find myself chatting about nothing just to fill that space.

I was seriously considering changing my entire talk and just spending my whole time slot on stage in silence. How rare and valuable a gift that would be in a world where we're literally inundated with noise from all angles.

When I showed up to satsang this morning, I was radiating with the inquiry about whether it even mattered to get on a stage and talk when all we really need to do is shut up and listen. It's in listening to the sound of silence that we discover just how much more is out there (and in here). Am I not just perpetuating the problem by thinking my voice matters?

In satsang, it's possible to raise your hand, take the mic, and ask a question. At various points I wanted to, but I couldn't formulate the words (something that, admittedly, is uncommon for me). So I trusted my process, and the profound process of satsang, to reveal what it needed to to me without asking anything.
And at the very end, as if by accident, Shantimayi answered my unspoken question by sharing a story about herself, almost as an afterthought, once satsang had formally ended.

She, too, had been deliberating about whether she'll continue to offer satsangs. She, too, doesn't want to talk anymore, even though what she says is infinitely shrouded in truth that moves through her freely. And through a stream of somewhat mystical events, she received a message from an actual person that she must persevere; that the true story must be told over, and over, and over, in order that people can actually hear it.
We tell ourselves stories constantly, and so many of those stories aren't real. The monotony of the inner dialogue is unrelenting, and if we're not careful, we'll begin to believe the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves, and the world. Suffering ensues, everywhere.

Our saving grace is when someone who is a conduit for truth is willing to not give up in telling it. To keep speaking through the noise, drowning out the untruths with truth until those around them can finally see and hear it for themselves.

And that was the exact truth I needed to hear.

Sometimes our "downloads" and clarity come through other people and not directly from our guides or intuition. Often times it's revealed through story. It works for me, and my deepest wish is that I have that impact on others, too. This is why I dare to be a speaker even when I don't want to say anything.

Have you had a moment in your life where you've been seeking clarity and then through a seemingly random turn of events, the truth you needed to hear revealed itself through someone else? I'd love to hear how that's impacted you.

PS: if you happen to be in or near New York City at the end of March, tickets are still available for Speakers Who Dare on March 24th. I'd love to see you there.