On slicing onions at a silent retreat and other life updates

The past week has been one incredible blur.

Last weekend was lovely and I cannot think of anything better to do after exams. J and I went to Hot Springs (outside of Asheville) to the Southern Dharma Center for three days. We spent the entirety of the weekend in silence, living in one beautiful and intentional community and participating in working meditations, seated meditations, and even a little yoga. I learned a lot through the experience and found the whole thing to be more rewarding than challenging in the end.

One funny moment of the weekend was during my kitchen working meditation for three hours. I was assigned various tasks, mostly chopping vegetables and fruit. And I quickly learned that in the past when I cut an onion, I make it clear to the world what I am doing. I found it all so frustrating, tears streaming down my face, eyes stinging in pain and not being able to share that with my fellow workers. In the process I managed so cut myself and found myself once again wanting to resort to words and wanting to share my pain with others. I didn’t and through the painful, now funny experience, I learned that communication extends far beyond my simple words.

After our retreat ended and our hike through the snow, J and I went to the hot springs and then drove home.

On the drive home, I turned my phone back on and learned that my favorite person in the world, Gran had had a stroke. She is and always will be my hero and it all came so suddenly. My week since I learned the news has seemed hazy, difficult, and confusing. She is in our thoughts and prayers constantly and I look forward to spending time with her someday soon. She’s a truly remarkable, fiesty and fun individual and not being with her in all this has been torture.

I’m back in Davidson, back home and in light of everything, I look forward to being with family and enjoying these next few weeks.

What my weekend looked like

It was cold.

It was quiet.

It was all very inspiring.

In the mountains this weekend, I learned to be still.

I learned to love snow again.

And most of all I learned how to be entirely silent.

I’m back home in Davidson now for the holidays with a heart that is heavy and thankful.

A meditation

“Art is made by those who consider themselves to have failed at whatever isn’t art. And of course it is loved as consolation, or a call to arms by those who feel the same. One of the reasons there seem to be fewer readers for literature today than there were yesterday is that the concept of failure has been outlawed. If we are all beautiful, all clever, all happy, all successes in our own way, what do we want with the language of the dispossessed?

But the nature of failure ensures that writers will go on writing no matter how many readers they have. You have to master the embarrassments and ignominies of life.”

– Howard Jacobson. A mediation on failure.

[Photo: Hour one. Rishikesh, India//Grace Farson]

psalm 145