Ruth Folit

Silence takes many shapes: There's the awkward silence, the pregnant pause, the meaningful silence, the collective moment of silence remembering and honoring our heroes, the random few seconds of silence that occurs in a roomful of people when all at once--and momentarily--no one is speaking. There's the almost eerie silence experienced late at night outside after a new snowfall. And there's the silence that often occurs during a conversation among a small group of people, signaling that the night is drawing to a close.

There's pure silence. Dead silence. Utter silence. (Utter silence is my favorite as an absurd juxtaposition of two opposite words.) In my readings about the word "silent," I learned that "listen" and "silent" are anagrams. Is this just coincidence? I think the appeal of silence offers me the time and space to listen to myself. To connect more fully with what I think, feel, and need.

Often silence precedes clear thinking. Along the way silence may take me through the swampy interior lands of worry and anxiety. However, if I persist and stay determined, silence takes me to the still point, where "being" just is. For me, silence is a catalyst for connecting with myself--taking myself to a quiter, calmer place, to a state that precedes language. The path to self-connection isn't direct and automatic. To get there can be a slow and meandering process, wading through the noise of the last several days or months of life. However, communing on a level where I settle into my deeper self can release a new paragraph, a new page, or even a new chapter that surfaces from the once hidden depths.

A therapist that I met with brought up an interesting point that has stuck with me: Transitions--the interface between phases--can be the richest parts of life. How often we fear the leap between known and unknown and so we want to get through the transition quickly. But just as in the physical world, the edges of two geographical zones--the coastal areas, for example--are the richest and most productive areas of an environment, so too are the transitions in the emotional world the richest areas to find lessons, meaning, and knowledge.

Silence is a way to expand, rather than hurry transitions. One way to get to a place of interior silence, stillness, the still point--whatever phrase works for you--is to sit quietly focusing on your breathing. Breathe in deeply and slowly and then slowly exhale. Focusing on your slow and deep breathing with eyes closed is a good technique to moving toward stillness. You might want to note at the end of a journal entry what you did before you started journaling--just jumped in to writing, sat quietly focusing on your breath until you got to a still point, or some other ritual and you might over time see how that affects your journal writing. Take the time for creating some intentional silence and see if it affects the depth of your journal entry