Is silence golden?
What would make a sociable 35-year-old submit to five days at a silent retreat?
T: The New York Times Style Magazine Singapore
No speaking. No phone coverage. And no access to Wi-Fi. Submitting to a five-day silent retreat is a desire to catch my breath and think, without interruption. The world has never been noisier than it is today. With smart technology comes a never-ending onslaught of information and accessibility. We are more connected than ever but are we communicating in a meaningful way? Are we listening to one another and, perhaps more importantly, to that voice within?
As John F Kennedy said, sometimes we choose to do things “not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organise and measure the best of our energies and skills”. While it isn’t landing on the moon, or climbing the highest mountain, attending a silent retreat can be an act of daring — especially for the more loquacious individual.
“It takes most people a couple of days to get used to it,” says Patricia Miklautsch, the 69-year-old American co-founder of Bali Silent Retreat. “Then they sink into the reverie. It’s like an emotional, psychological massage after a while, and they begin to get edgy if anyone talks.”
Surrounded by vivid green rice fields, with a view of Mount Batur to the northeast, Bali Silent Retreat spans four hectares in Tabanan, about two and a half hours north of Ngurah Rai International Airport. The retreat’s purpose, according to its website, is “for prayer and meditation” but unlike a traditional ashram, there is no guru or religious dogma here. People from all faiths are welcome, as are those who have none. Twice-daily yoga and meditation classes are optional. The only rule: No talking.
“Silence allows the true self to shine through, and it diminishes ego,” says 36-year-old Dutchman Simon Jongenotter. The executive chef, gardener and energy healer at Bali Silent Retreat says being silent eliminates “the mindless chatter that covers up our emotional baggage, which tends to happen when people are constantly busy.” Miklautsch adds that this allows people to “sometimes, energetically and lovingly, shift some of the negativity [in their lives].”
As a curious novice to the world of spiritual retreats, at the start of the week I enthusiastically embrace silence. I wake with the first gong at 5:30am. Smiles are exchanged with fellow attendees during yoga, and over the thrice-daily vegetarian buffets in the lodge. I participate in all of the optional activities, from the garden tour to a solo stroll around the labyrinth, a grassy circular path designed to encourage contemplation.
As luck would dictate, I’m here for an Agnihotra, an Ayurvedic fire ceremony that takes place twice a month on the eve of the new moon and full moon. For half an hour, about 20 guests — the resort can accommodate up to 35 — sit and chant around a small fire. At sunset, we each approach the fire in turn, moving a hand from our heart towards the flames, in a gesture symbolic of letting go of what we no longer want in our lives. It’s a primal and powerful experience, and I leave feeling energised.
But by Day 3, my mojo starts to fade. During meditation, my left leg falls so deeply asleep I fear it won’t wake up. I shake it vigorously with both hands, prompting disapproving looks from the instructor. That afternoon, the retreat seems ominously silent. I wander for an hour without seeing another soul. By Day 4, I’m at breaking point. Should I go to the designated Chat Zone near reception to talk to someone? Anyone. Instead, I do a water meditation. Cold water from a nearby temple trickles through a bamboo pole onto my forehead as I sit on a wooden block, questioning the life choices that brought me to this moment. A few hours later, I break my silence.
I’m not the only one who doesn’t last the duration. Asking questions is allowed during events such as the Thursday night Tea Circle, and most people participate. Earlier in the week, on the garden tour, an Australian man in his early twenties shared his experience. “The first three days were really hard, I had some stuff to work out, but I’m really enjoying it now,” he said. Another day, at reception, a French woman in her thirties comments, “I’m so curious as to what nationality people are, and what they do.”
For some, being stripped of their identities and left alone with their thoughts offer a circuit breaker from day-to-day life. “With our modern lifestyle, we have so many things going on that we don’t have space to take care of ourselves,” says Sang Tu, the 41-year-old Balinese co-founder of Bali Silent Retreat. “If your phone needs to be recharged to [function properly], why don’t human beings need recharging?”
For others, spending time in silence can be a truly life-changing experience. Jongenotter admits he has received the occasional “scary email” from past guests, who have quit their job, divorced their husband and now want to work in his kitchen. “It’s the beauty of telling them, ‘What you’ve found is inside of you, and you can find it anywhere.’” Though he admits, “Bali does help, it’s a magical place. But come on!” he says.
So how can we replicate this peace and quiet back in the real world? “Accept your life where it’s at, and don’t think, ‘Oh, I can only do this in Bali, so now I’ll just be really busy again’,” says Jongenotter, who recommends carving out space in your day to go for a quiet walk or sit silently in a chair. “If you can’t give yourself half an hour every day, how do you feel about yourself?” he asks. “It’s an act of self-love to give yourself that.”
This story was originally published in the June 2017 issue of T: The New York Times Style Magazine Singapore.