Month: January 2025

After last week’s post, a friend suggested that I write more from my heart instead of sharing others words all the time. I love the wisdom of my teachers so much that I often resonate with their words and want to share them here.

But for this blog, I will take her advice and talk more about stillness and silence and its importance in our lives.

I think of the verse in the Old Testament, “Be still and know that I am God,” a phrase from Psalm 46:10.

And the words of Jesus about praying in private so we can be in a place of listening to the divine, “But you, when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly” (Matthew 6:6)

In the words of Hazrat Inayat Khan, the Sufi master, “Through the silence of nature, I attain Thy divine peace. O sublime nature, in thy stillness let my heart rest”.

As a response to trauma, fear, and despair, which are endemic in our world, we tend to fill our lives with distractions: music, talking, news, TV shows, and movies. None of these things is terrible, but they can often distract us from that still, small voice.

What can we practice to remind ourselves to listen? What kinds of unnecessary things can we let go of or could be done much less to have time for silence?

I love this quote from Mirabai Starr, “The more you turn inward, the more available the sacred becomes. When you sit in. silence and turn your gaze toward the holy mystery you once called God, the mystery follows you back into the world. When you walk with a purposeful focus on breath and birdsong, your breathing and the twitter of the chickadee reveal themselves as miracles. .” (Mirabai Starr, Wild Mercy)

In her new book, Ordinary Mysticism, she discusses the importance of her morning practices. She notes that even though she absolutely doesn’t have time in her busy life, she still takes that time because it sets the tone and intention for the rest of the day.

I resonate with her words. Every morning, I also make an effort to spend time in gratitude, remember all my beloveds and my mycelial connection to the all in all, and aspire to a life dedicated to service. I pray part of a prayer that Hazrat Inayat Khan shared, “Use me for the purpose thy wisdom chooses.” and I chant the Hebrew word, Hineni (hee-nay-nee), which translates as “Here I am.”

One of my favorite practices is called Khilvat in the Sufi lexicon. It is an extended time of silent meditation, usually in a beautiful natural setting. I also find value in fasting during that practice. Removing all distractions, even talking and eating, is genuinely transcendent.

I deeply treasure a walking meditation to a place near my home, which I call my ‘Sit Spot.’ I share that space with tall trees, vibrant plants, animals, and a beautiful creek burbling, reminding me of the beauty of acceptance and surrender. Once, it generated a surrender poem about how the creek doesn’t need to go back, doesn’t want to go back, can’t go back, and neither can I.

Even in this spinning, intrusive culture, we can and must find every opportunity to be present in the stillness and the silence and listen for guidance from that still small voice. Holding that sense of silence on the breath, perhaps even noticing those brief moments of stillness between the in and out breaths, can be a practice of remembrance in every moment.

Knowing that stillness is indeed Divine creates an opportunity to truly be grounded and open to the light of guidance.

And when we infuse ourselves and our souls with that radiance, we can be a lamp in the darkness. We can radiate that light to all those who suffer and need to notice the stars sparkling in the dark night.

This is our work. That is why we arrived here at this time and place. Chief Arvol Lookinghorse, the chief of the Lakota/Dakota/Nakota tribes, said, “Know that you yourselves are essential to this world. Each of us is put here in this time and in this place to personally decide the future of humankind. Do you think you were put here for something less? Do you think that the creator would create unnecessary people in this time of terrible danger?”

Look into your own life. Consider what is getting in the way of your ability to spend time in stillness and silence. What distractions could you reduce or even let go of? See if you can set aside time, even if it’s only a few minutes, to be still and silent and hear that still, small voice.

As I was contemplating this blog post, drifting into an afternoon nap, the leaf blowers started up outside as they are wont to do. And I slipped into this poetry I share with all of you to end this post.

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Intimate Silence

I had a dream…

All the leaf blowers wound down to silence.

All the cars and trucks, motorcycles, and work vans – every vehicle slowly
pulled to the curb and turned off. And none of them ever started again.

Airplanes, helicopters, and drones – landed safely, shut down and would never start again.

All weapons ceased to work. Even tools like knives, spades, axes – if raised in violence crumbled to dust.

Motorized tools of all kinds stopped and wouldn’t start again.

Amplifiers and microphones failed.

And finally…

When every noise making invention of the crazy human animals fell silent…

In the intimate, sacred stillness
A sabbath rest,
A potent dark seed trembling…

Everyone, everywhere, human and more than human
Took a long, deep breath
Let out a relieved and grateful sigh…

And then…

The singing began.

Of course, the birds started it.
Then other creatures took up the song.
The stars, clouds, moon, and sun smiled and tapped out the rhythm of day and night.
The oceans and rivers filled the low end with gurgles and tides.
The animals contributed their beautiful melodies.

And finally,

Sobbing,

The humans began

To harmonize.

There is much beauty and value in noticing and embracing the times between the parts of our lives. One can experience this in meditation by spending time between the in and out breaths and genuinely feeling what that place of silence and stillness holds for us.

My friends Tovah and Ted of the Anokhi Institute sent out the following beautiful essay last week. They offer many classes and events relating to mystic practice. I can’t recommend them highly enough.

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We mark a new year, yet still in the peak of the darkness and quiet of the winter season. A time of transition and introspection.

Life’s most transformative moments often occur in these spaces between—between the end of one chapter and the beginning of the next. This in-between space can feel unsettling, even disorienting, as we are suspended in a place where the familiar has faded and the new is not yet formed.

This pause, however, is sacred. It is a liminal space—a threshold where deep reflection and inner transformation can occur. Just as the soil lies fallow in winter to prepare for spring’s growth, we, too, need these periods of stillness to process, reflect, and envision. The pause between what was and what will be is a gift, though it may not always feel like one. It is here, in the quiet, that clarity and inspiration often emerge.

Embrace this quiet space as an invitation to slow down and listen. What do you hear when the noise of doing subsides? What truths emerge when there is nothing to distract you? This pause allows us to step outside the momentum of our habits and reflect deeply on the unfolding of our lives. It is a time to ask profound questions: What do I truly value? What seeds am I planting for springtime sprouting? What am I being called to nurture at this time?

The in-between can also be a time for recalibration. Transitioning from one season to the next, one year to the next, can unsettle our routines, habits, and patterns, offering a chance to realign with our deeper selves. By embracing this quiet time, we give ourselves the spaciousness to imagine new possibilities. It is here, in this fertile void, that our own inner genius inspires us to envision what could be.

At its heart, this pause reminds us of the quiet power of stillness. Even when no outward signs of change are visible, transformation is unfolding beneath the surface, preparing us for new possibilities. Like seeds germinating in the darkness of the soil, the changes we are readying ourselves for are often invisible until the right moment to emerge. This requires patience—a willingness to let go of control and allow life to unfold in its natural rhythm.

However, the in-between space can also bring discomfort. Uncertainty, doubt, and even fear may surface as we navigate the unknown. These feelings are natural, and they, too, carry wisdom. Discomfort invites us to explore the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and what we need. It asks us to trust that we are capable of meeting the mystery of the moment, even without all the answers.

Discomfort, while challenging, can also be a catalyst for transformation. By leaning into it with curiosity rather than resistance, we may discover insights and inner resources we didn’t know we had. 

Takeaway Practice:

Dedicate time each day to sit quietly and reflect on the in-between. Light a candle or create a ritual to mark this pause. Ask yourself:

What seeds of transformation am I planting in this pause?

What possibilities or inspirations are quietly emerging within me?

Allow the answers to arise organically, trusting that clarity will come in its own time.

[With gratitude to dear Sufi sister Tarana who posted the stories below recently on her Facebook feed]

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A most poignant and important message in these challenging times is to remember to notice the many teachers we are gifted with in each moment. It is said that the Hindu elephant god Ganesh, as well as being a clearer of obstacles may also choose to gift us with the obstacles and trials that will enhance our understanding of our place and work in this precious life.

Dear sister Tarana shared the following that I pass on to you as a perfect example of this profound truth.

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One of the great Sufi Masters, Junaid, was asked this when he was dying. His chief disciple came close to him and asked, Master, you are leaving us. One question has always been in our minds butwe could never gather courage enough to ask you. Who was your Master? This has been a great curiosity among your disciples because we have never heard you talk about your Master.

Junaid opened his eyes and said, It will be very difficult for me to answer because I have learned from almost everybody. The whole existence has been my Master. I have learned from every event that has happened in my life. And I am grateful to all that has happened, because out of all that learning I have arrived.

Junaid said, Just to satisfy your curiosity I will give you three instances.

Dog and the Begging Bowl

Once, I was very thirsty and I was going towards the river carrying my begging bowl, the only possession I had. When I reached the river a dog rushed, jumped into the river, started drinking.

I watched for a moment and threw away my begging bowl, because it is useless. A dog can do without it. I also jumped into the river, drank as much water as I wanted. My whole body was cool because I had jumped into the river. I sat in the river for a few moments, thanked the dog, touched his feet with deep reverence because he had taught me a lesson.

I had dropped everything, all possessions, but there was a certain clinging to my begging bowl. It was a beautiful bowl, very beautifully carved, and I was always aware that somebody might steal it. Even in the night I used to put it under my head as a pillow so nobody could snatch it away. That was my last clinging-the dog helped. It was so clear: if a dog can manage without a begging bowl, I am a man, why can’t I manage? That dog was one of my Masters.

The Patient Thief

Secondly, he continued, I lost my way in a forest and by the time I reached the nearest village that I could find, it was midnight. Everybody was fast asleep. I wandered all over the town to see if I could find somebody awake to give me shelter for the night, until finally I found one man. I asked him, It seems only two persons are awake in the town, you and I. Can you give me shelter for the night?

The man said, I can see from your gown that you are a Sufi monk. [The word Sufi comes from the word ‘suf’ which means wool, a woolen garment. The Sufis have used the woolen garment for centuries; hence they are called Sufis because of their garment.] The man said, I can see you are a Sufi and I feel a little embarrassed to take you to my home. I am perfectly willing, but I must tell you who I am. I am a thief. Would you like to be a guest of a thief?

For a moment, I hesitated. The thief said, Look, it is better I told you. You seem hesitant. The thief is willing but the mystic seems to be hesitant to enter into the house of a thief, as if the mystic is weaker than the thief. In fact, I should be afraid of you. You may change me, You may transform my whole life! Inviting you means danger, but I am not afraid. You are welcome. Come to my home. Eat, drink, go to sleep, and stay as long as you want, because I live alone and my earning is enough. I can manage for two persons. And it will be really beautiful to chit-chat with you of great things. But you seem to be hesitant?

And then I became aware that it was true. I asked to be forgiven. I touched the feet of the thief and said, Yes, my rootedness in my own being is yet very weak. You are really a strong man and I would like to come to your home. And I would like to stay a little longer, not only for this night. I want to be stronger myself!

The thief said, Come on! He fed the Sufi, gave him something to drink, helped him to prepare for sleep and he said, Now I will go. I have to do my own thing. I will come back early in the morning. Early in the morning the thief came back. Junnaid asked, Have you been successful?The thief said, No, not today, but I will see tomorrow.

And this happened continuously, for thirty days: every night the thief went out, and every morning he came back empty-handed. But he was never sad, never frustrated–no sign of failure on his face, always happy –and he would say, It doesn’t matter. I tried my best. I could not find anything today again, but tomorrow I will try. And, God willing, it can happen tomorrow if it has not happened today.

After one month I left, and for years I tried to realize the ultimate, and it was always a failure. But each time I decided to drop the whole project I remembered the thief, his smiling face and his saying, God willing, what has not happened today may happen tomorrow.

Junaid said, I remembered the thief as one of my greatest Masters. Without him I would not be what I am.

The Lit Candle

And third, he said, I entered into a small village. A little boy was carrying a lit candle, obviously going to the small temple of the town to put the candle there for the night.

And Junaid asked, Can you tell me from where the light comes? You have lighted the candle yourself so you must have seen. What is the source of light?

The boy laughed and he said, Wait! And he blew out the candle in front of Junaid. And he said, You have seen the light go. Can you tell me where it has gone? If you can tell me where it has gone I will tell you from where it has come, because it has gone to the same place. It has returned to the source.

And Junaid said, I had met great philosophers but nobody had made such a beautiful statement: It has gone to its very source.

Everything returns to its source finally.

Moreover, the child made me aware of my own ignorance. I was trying to joke with the child, but the joke was on me. He showed me that asking foolish questions like from where has the light come is not intelligent. It comes from nowhere, from nothingness, and it goes back to nowhere, to nothingness.

Junaid said, I touched the feet of the child. The child was puzzled. He said, Why you are touching my feet? And I told him, You are my Master–you have shown me something. You have given me a great lesson, a great insight.
Since that time, Junaid said, I have been meditating on nothingness and slowly, slowly I have entered into nothingness. And now the final moment has come when the candle will go out, the light will go out. And I know where I am going – to the same source. I remember that child with gratefulness. I can still see him standing before me, blowing out the candle.

No situation is without a lesson, no situation at all.

In our hemisphere and our culture, the new year has begun. You, like me, might feel a mixture of trepidation and even despair, along with the hope and faith that is taught to us by the only true scripture, the scripture of nature (from the 3rd of the ten Sufi thoughts by Hazrat Inayat Khan – “There is One Holy Book, the sacred manuscript of nature, the only scripture which can enlighten the reader.”).

As ordinary mystics, as Mirabai Starr teaches us in her new book, we hold that balance, acknowledging both the sorrow and the joy. And we remember that we live in mystery where the future is unknown, and the past is gone. We breathe gratitude, hope, and our willingness to serve with every new inhalation and breathe out our fears, giving them to the earth that will hold, heal, compost, and recycle them as medicine and sustenance. Inshallah.

The following poem comes from one of the ascended ones of our time, Sophie Strand. Her poetry reminds us again to stay soft and open and to be in radical acceptance and surrender. May it be so.