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A friend of seclusion arrives at my gate
we greet and pardon our lack of decorum
a mane of white hair more or less tied
a monk robe gathered loosely around
embers of leaves at the end of the night
howl of a gibbon announcing the dawn
sitting on cushions wrapped in quilts
words forgotten finally we meet
*Red Pine, Trans. The Mountain Poems of Stonehouse. Pg. 94-95. Copper Canyon Press. Kindle Edition.
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Stonehouse (i.e., Shiwu; Chinese Chan [Zen] monk, poet, recluse; 1272-1535) welcomes in a guest - likely a Taoist, for Zen monks shaved the head, but Taoists did not. Apparently, they meet and talk for a while. Then, they sit in quietness. Near the end of the night, Stonehouse can sense, "Finally, we meet." But had they not met when Stonehouse welcomed the guest into his hut?
After all that time, "finally." And, in this meeting, words had been forgotten. A meeting happened as dawn neared, for they had stopped talking and together allowed themselves to share a spaciousness under words.
Anyone who has shared in a group of practitioners of silence has witnessed this subtle meeting. When I first began meditating with others, I was amazed at the fellowship of heart that occurs in such a setting. I was in my mid-30s and had never known such an experience before.
We sink below our sense of individuality, a self divided from others, into a quiet, softening communion. We could call this heart-with-heart, but that does not say what it is.
We cannot say this meeting, whereas we together can experience it. And this is a profound failure of much religion... the failure at dropping below words and entering together this spaciousness. Hence, much - possibly most - religion is little more than a gathering of egos. However, our deepest longings, for which many seek from religion, can only be fulfilled below words.
This below words is not merely sitting in silence, however, not silence as a mere absence of words. One can sit in silence, even meditate, with others and sit as an ego apart, never entering the below words. Mere silence as an absence of words does not lead anyone to communion below words, for below words is not equivalent to no words. Silence itself carries no negation. We can speak, then, of a negative silence and a positive silence. Negative is the mere absence of whatever we see to be opposite silence. Positive is a presence without an opposite.
Stonehouse points us to one of the blessings of a regular practice of silence. You become more sensitive to that communion with other beings known only below words. In time, you sense it becoming more a part of your time outside of your regular practice of silence. You feel differently, for you are walking about in a different realm of being, and you see others with new eyes. Spiritually, your locus shifts; you begin living from a different geography, but that place is completely here, more so than before.
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*(C) Brian K. Wilcox, 2024
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