Silence, please…

Silence for an entire weekend? It’s probably not what most of would consider an ideal way to spend a few days off. For me, I never thought it was possible to stay quiet for longer than a few seconds, never mind an entire weekend. But after covering a feature piece about Paradise Found Yoga, a weekend silent yoga retreat on Salt Spring Island (that I am certain I manifested) I am a believer that everyone should try it at least once. I’m not usually one to read into things, but strangely enough, I have been thinking about going to a place where I didn’t have to speak, so my vocal chords could rest. Hence my assumptions about the manifestation. You see I consider myself the social commentator of our group. Actually, any group really. Social, as some of my friends and co-workers have affectionately nicknamed me, has stuck for over a year now. So, when after a weekend that would’ve exhausted even the chattiest Kathy and losing my voice (down it was to a raspy whisper), I found it almost cosmically conspiratory that my editor in Toronto called about writing the piece. Awaiting me upon arrival to my final destination (from a car ride, a big ferry excursion and a smaller ferry-cab ride) was a pre-arranged aromatherapy massage appointment that was part of the package. My senses, if a bit exhausted, absorbed the quaint room’s healing properties instantaneously as a warm footbath refreshed my tired soles. The gentle, fragrant aromas of lavender and mint were silencing my mind as if foreshadowing the bliss that was to come that weekend. A warm mug of chamomile tea soothed my throat. Post massage, my “Karma Angel,” Kristen, picked me up just outside the doors of the spa (where I could’ve stayed for hours more.) Greeting me with a hand-painted sign with my name on it in big and bold colours, she radiated innocence, enthusiasm and pureness reminiscent of pre-schooler who probably could have painted that welcome sign. (As I found out later, Nomi Sat Guru Lyonns, the owner of the retreat, a yoga instructor and all encompassing woman extraordinaire, makes the cards before all her guests arrive as she meditates on our names.) On our drive to the cottage the twists and turns of the roadways navigated her narrative. The history of the island, stories about finding Nomi’s retreat and telling us about her true love - yoga - all intertwined, like the roads ahead. Once at the cottage, it felt as if it perched itself on the banks of Cusheon Lake. Surrounded by lush vegetation, a lonely rowboat anchored itself on the adjacent pier, just barely hanging-on as the winds wrestled to unloosen the fibrous noose holding it hostage. Nomi affectionately greeted us as we waited for the rest of our small group to arrive. Ironically, all of us present were women and had a media connection. We were all in a creative field having to do with words, written or spoken. As Nomi explained later, this connection happens often, as similar energies will attract others, even sub-consciously. That night, the mediation kicked-off our silent retreat with a pen and paper being our only guides to expression for the next three days. The evening was serene. Reading and walking, listening to my iPod and just being were the only things to worry about. Admittedly, it was really nice not to have to make conversation or”have to talk about things” with the people that I had just met. It was easier not to have to perform, think of the right things to say or think about what people thought of me after I said something. These are all things I never noticed when speaking was “allowed.” The next morning our wake-up call at 4:30 AM was courtesy of a groovy brass bowl-gong and its mallet accomplice. Stumbling sleepily, the dawn was marvelous. I’ve never experienced being so awake and feeling so tired at the same time. The mist drifted across the edges of the lawn where a rock labyrinth laid. We seated ourselves on the floor of the living room that was filled with magenta, coffee and gold-coloured cushions. With our heads wrapped in a white cloth, we flowed in a synchronized manner and listened to the breath, the sound and the movement of our group. Supporting each other, we passed the silent hours doing crafts, drawing, going for hikes, rowing, visiting an outdoor farmers’ market and eating delicious food prepared by Elly, the caterer (Karma Angel, number two.) Monday. Monday. And hence an end to my silent journey. It arrived too soon. Strangely enough, when at the conclusion of the retreat I was asked how I felt about not being able to speak for an entire weekend, I had nothing to say. What I was thinking was that it was easier not saying anything at all. Communicating that entire weekend was better with a pen and paper, with gestures, through art and observing each other’s smiles. I walked away with a greater sense of self, gratitude and connection to the people that I met, without having to say anything at all. And that is something to worth talking about.