Silent on the Details

Last week I savored every hour of a 5 day silent retreat at a Franciscan monastery below Big Sur. My purposes for going were to be quiet, to clear the clattering in my mind, and to listen to the primary sound that matters to me—the voice of Mystery. And while the retreat was life-giving and life-changing, I’m reluctant to write about it in depth, because the experience was something akin to going on a romantic weekend tryst with a lover.

In the same way that a loving couple wouldn’t return from a weekend spouting detailed descriptions of their intimacy—“and as we laid in each other’s arms we talked about…”, “and we made love this many times…with this position_____ being a mind-numbing favorite…”, “and we both wept as we told each other…” –- so too it would be indecorous to reveal sordid details of pillow talk with Mystery.

It was fitting to kiss and tell when we were in high school, but giving intimate details of Love is just bad form when we are older. A sacred relationship of body, heart, and soul should be shielded from the profane at all costs. Sure, there are plenty of brazen bloggers who pin their spiritual delicates on the internet clothes line, but I’m not one of them.