I recently spent a week in silence at Spirit Rock for my annual retreat. Many parents ask why I choose to step away from words and the noise of daily life. The answer is simple: in silence, I find clarity. In stillness, I hear what is often missed. It’s hard to describe, so I’ve captured the experience in a poem.

Peacocks, Persimmons, and Practice

Four silent retreats,
each a stepping stone,
a gentle unfolding
into a tender space within.

We began on warm meditation floors,
grounded on berry-colored cushions,
held steady by the surrounding stillness.
Before any movement,
before any breath,
there is the mind—
restless, noisy, aching for stillness.
Meeting it with patience,
sitting with its edges,
brings a quiver through the heart—
an awakening, a soft stirring,
a quiet invitation to open.

This is the work—mettā,
to soften, to send
loving friendliness to all.

The sound of the bell
marked each transition,
a gentle call to wake up,
to leave one practice
and step into another.
Sitting, walking, breathing—
each moment a thread
woven into a larger awareness.

On my mindfulness walks,
I discovered 12 hidden stone Buddhas,
tucked into quiet corners of the 400 acres,
as if waiting to be found,
each a reminder to pause,
to breathe, to truly see.

Peacocks moved with grace among golden trees,
wild turkeys roamed freely,
a coyote stood at attention,
a young deer paused and grazed,
while a white crane, graceful yet primal,
ate a lizard in the stillness.
Above it all, stars stretched themselves
across the vast sky,
weaving their silent stories.

Meals became a meditation,
each bite a hymn of presence.
Sweet persimmons,
a reminder of life’s simplest joys.

In the deep silence,
the edges of myself softened,
the mind grew quiet,
and the heart opened wide,
ready to meet the world once again—
with love.

I hope this poem offers a glimpse into the profound peace and insight that such retreats can provide.

Let’s practice together!

Warm regards,

Chair, Harvard-Westlake Mindfulness Club