When You Say Nothing At All
Breaking the silence on not talking.
A course supervisor recently told me she’d been on a silent retreat. I was pretty surprised, given that she didn’t seem the typical candidate for that sort of gig - a sarcastic no-nonsense woman with a low tolerance for ‘touchy-feely bullshit’ (I’d always liked her). She’d returned to our supervision group totally affected by the experience (“I even got on the tube today and I didn’t want to kill anyone - can you imagine?!”), extolling its virtues and highly recommending we try it at some point. My mind immediately conjured a hell-scape. A silent retreat? Was she insane? As someone who’s often judged on appearances (aren’t we all), I’ve always relied on conversation to challenge assumptions. For me, the invitation to be mute seemed like asking a snowman into a sauna. Violent death by silent meltdown.
Then, the Friday before last I surprised myself. With a long weekend of study ahead, I wanted to keep myself out of trouble, so when I saw on social media there was an event planned that night in Notting Hill - a sober rave - I thought, sure f*ck it, let’s go crazy, what’s the worst that can happen?
The venue was a gorgeous NY-style loft above Goldborne Road, perfectly lit by the early evening sun. It was like a yoga studio but with a DJ booth, and I was still unsure whether the vibe was leggings or lamé. It was no clearer as people tricked in, some dressed for shavasana, others decorated like a human glow-stick. As I cursed my adventurous impulse and lustfully eyed the exit, the DJ started up and gave some basic housekeeping. The music should be LOUD so we had headphones to crank the volume to what we could handle. We could move as we wish, and expect things to get high-octane. We should dance, connect, communicate with each other. But crucially, there should be no talking.
Now, this isn’t something I’ve done before and as I looked around, I wasn’t sure whether it was an awkward start, or just an awkward me. As people embodied their own ‘dance like no-one’s watching’ meme, I tried to loosen up, but couldn’t quite shake that ‘first day of school’ feeling (if I’d gone to the School of Mime).
I’d say it took about 20 minutes before I fully chilled out. Perhaps I’d dropped into my body more, or perhaps my neurosis had simply exhausted itself. Tired from trying to scream ‘Can we go now?’ over the blaring sounds of techno trance. I was gone, man. The room was now a different space, and we were throwing shapes like everyone should be watching.
Ok, so it was a weird way to spend a Friday night. But it really showed me how much we use words to present ourselves. This was no silent retreat, it was deafening disco. But here I was, in a room full of strangers, somehow connecting without language - the very thing I’d feared at the suggestion of my supervisor.
Words are powerful, of course. But what do we dull in our reliance on the spoken word? When we let our bodies do the talking, words become worthless, and the silence becomes energised. By the end of the night when we all finally did speak, not only did I feel totally connected to this entire group of people, but I felt accepted by them. Basically, I felt like this guy:
In modern day culture, we’re not typically comfortable with silence. In conversation it might indicate awkwardness or lack of connection. In a meeting, perhaps incompetence or lack of ideas. Some people find silence unbearable, filling the space with mindless chatter. Many can’t even bear quiet with themselves, digital devices now ensuring we need never experience it.
Part of the training in psychotherapy is to learn to work with silence, understanding its essential value as the space needed to access deeper material. In Gestalt psychotherapy, a therapist will go deeper still, taking the client’s attention to their body to get them out of their heads. The body is where the unconscious hides, and where we might find resistance or blocks that harbour our deepest traumas. Words take us back up into our heads. The safety of rationalisation breeding rejection of feeling. It’s through feeling and sensation that we outrun language to access our creative imagination. Following the flow of our curiosity, energy, and physicality. We can start to connect with the present in a way that powerfully helps heal the past. Of course, in therapy that’s on an individual level, but I had now experienced the power of the body on a collective level - that there might just be something to this silent retreat thing after all!
Through my mad little dalliance with ecstatic dance, I realised that my fear of silence was actually a fear of myself. A belief that people wouldn’t see the good in me unless I told them where to look. From challenging my own discomfort and leading with body rather than mind, I realised just how much we can communicate without spoken word. Perhaps even on a much deeper level.
Don’t get me wrong, I still won’t be signing up for a silent retreat any time soon. But I do have new-found respect for the silent sober rave. 🪩👩🎤
The Spin
We can use words to craft a persona that we might sometimes also hide behind.
Our familiarity with language often bypasses the unspoken communication that can occur when words are absent.
Silence gives us space to be more present with our physical sensations - which is why many of us find it so difficult!
When we can’t impress, distract, amuse, or converse with language, we have new social licence to just be ourselves. It can be interesting to connect with what’s there when words fall away.
Adding More Weight
8 Physical & Mental Health Benefits to Silence
A 15-Year-Old’s Love of Silent Film
The Benefits of Ecstatic Dance
Option to Go Deeper
If you have the opportunity, ask a friend or someone you love to sit with you in silence.
Sounds weird, doesn’t it? How do you feel about the suggestion? If it’s possible, how long do you last? Notice your comfort levels, eye-contact, bodily sensations, mental chatter. What is it, if anything, that you find difficult? It’s a fascinating and really rewarding exercise if you can engage in it.
🤫 Love it...