I’ve just returned from my latest silent retreat — not merely an absence of sound, but a gentle shedding of the self. An opportunity to sit in contemplative stillness and let the mental clutter and inner noise melt away.
A great chance to create some ‘mindful’ ‘mind space’.
I’ve been going on retreats since 2012. I’ve missed a few years (the pandemic didn’t help), and on some years I’ve even managed more than one. But every time I go, I’m reminded why it matters.
And each retreat, builds on the ones that came before.
People often ask me:
“Why?”
“I don’t get it.”
“What’s the point?”
Good questions. I’ve asked them myself.
The idea of sitting in silence for an extended period can seem odd — especially in a world that praises busyness, productivity, and constant connection. But perhaps that’s exactly why it’s so powerful.
We are full — of noise, opinions, to-do lists, and background distractions. And when we’re full of noise, it’s hard to hear anything meaningful — our own thoughts, our inner wisdom, or whatever name you give to that deeper voice inside.
Silence isn’t emptiness. It’s spaciousness.
It’s about making room.
It’s learning how to listen.
And once you do, it changes how you hear everything — even after you return to the so-called “real world.” You start to cut through the static. You become more present, more attuned. You start to really hear people — and yourself.
The point of a retreat isn’t to achieve anything specific. No goals, no productivity hacks, no ticking boxes. It’s simply the chance to be.
There’s a beautiful line attributed to Jesus: “Come away by yourselves to a quiet place and rest awhile.”
That’s what a retreat is — rest.
Not just physical, but mental, emotional, spiritual.
You come as you are — no masks, no performance, no need to explain yourself. Even though others are there, the silence creates space for deep personal contemplation without interruption.
In that space, things rise to the surface:
Gratitude, appreciation.
Grief.
Unfinished business.
Moments you didn’t know you were holding on to.
And also — joy. Peace. A deep sense of “enough-ness.”
Even something as simple as eating becomes mindful. In silence, every bite is a meditation. You taste more. You notice more. You find gratitude in a carrot — not just for the flavour, but for the whole journey: the seed, the soil, the sun, the farmer, the cook… the life that becomes nourishment.
So when someone says, “I don’t get it,” I understand. It can feel awkward at first. Boring, even. That chattering mind doesn’t go quietly. But if you stay with it — something shifts. You start to notice what’s in the gaps between your thoughts. A breath. A birdsong. A phrase from a book that lands differently. A memory returning. A tension easing.
Silence isn’t the absence of life. It’s a return to it.
Spiritual or mindful practices aren’t about escaping reality — they’re about waking up to it. About seeing the goodness and meaning in the ordinary. And that’s hard to do when your head is full.
But we can learn. We can practice.
You don’t need to disappear for a whole weekend to begin. Just try this:
Set a two-minute timer on your phone.
Close your eyes. Breathe.
What can you hear? Smell? Feel — in your body, your emotions?
Silence isn’t about shutting the world out.
It’s about turning down the volume long enough to hear what really matters.
And you don’t have to be perfect. Fidgeting is fine. Thoughts will come. Just be willing to pause. That’s all it takes.
Namaste 🙏 have a great day.
