“All of humanity’s problems stem from one thing, our inability to sit quietly in a room.” 

–– Blaise Pascal, Pensèes

I suspect that Pascal would not argue with my sometimes expanding his sentence to include the challenges that we also have in sitting quietly in a room with one another. The skills required by both such situations can be difficult to acquire; and both are invaluable to our mental and physical well-being. A composed, silent presence is what we cultivate as Buddhist practitioners––by ourselves, and together as a sangha, a community. We meditate, and we keep still. Alone, and at times as a group, we pause our conversations; we relax and settle back, without disappearing; we open our attention, with interest and a steadiness of heart, to the arising of sounds, breath, thoughts, sensations––those inside us and those outside us. We gradually experience the transformation of our weariness into harmony, contentment, and sometimes, a deep peace. With regular practice over time, we calm down––and often, we find renewed energy.

Much of the early Buddhist imagery is agricultural, and in this sense, we can say that, in silence, we allow our lives to lie fallow for a time: fallow meaning “(of farmland) plowed and harrowed but left unsown for a period in order to restore its fertility––as part of a crop rotation or to avoid surplus production.” We practice being silent to restrain and refresh ourselves and our community.  

For many years, I attended a silent ten-day New Year’s retreat at the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts. Quite a few of the one hundred of us retreatants participated regularly every year, but most of us didn’t know one another outside of this venue. Even in person, there onsite, before, during, and after these quiet ten days, we rarely had opportunity for conversation. We sat together, walked together, ate together, moved through the halls and on the grounds outside together––all in “noble silence,” with very little eye contact or other gestures of communication. Nonetheless, I felt a growing sense of ease and an intimate familiarity over the course of each retreat. As the years wore on, this feeling of safety and mutual care deepened and was there at the outset of the ten days. I became fond of these people. The Tibetan word for meditation means “to become familiar with,” and perhaps it is not surprising that this kind of intimate knowing can be enhanced by shared silence. Such familiarity allows our whole being––body, heart, and mind––to feel less stressed and to feel safe.

During the days following the Tuesday of our national elections in November of this year, the wise request of a longtime Sangha member inspired our Valley Insight teachers to offer an hour of shared silent meditation each weekday evening from 7 to 8 p.m. During this time, there were no words spoken, no discussions, no subtle gestures; there was only the sitting in silence together in an online virtual Zoom Dharma Hall. The bell was rung once at the start of the hour, three times at the end of the hour; and then the room was closed. No matter our politics, for an hour as our nation was roiling in views and opinions, fears and hopes, we sat quietly together, “not knowing,“ “not choosing or rejecting,” “free from hostility and ill will.” Some of us felt an easing of stress and fear, a sense of belonging and safety, a familiar spaciousness, of being less alone.

This simple retreat-like experience of sitting together in silence was profoundly healing for many of us. And so the teacher team has decided to offer an hour of shared silent meditation once a week––Sunday evenings from 7–8 p.m., starting on January 5, 2025. It will be part of Valley Insight’s regular weekly offerings, hosted by one of a rotating team of our teachers, and accessed via our regular sitting-group Zoom-link. You are welcome to join us for all or any part of the hour. There is no need to pre-register. If you need the link, please contact .

create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently

–– from “Clearing,” by Martha Postlethwaite