Silence Is An Ocean

And the voices that live within

At this very moment, I’m pouring myself the softness of an Imperial Silver Needle Tea.

Plum Village, the monastery founded by Thich Nhat Hanh, which I’ve been blessed to frequent and now collaborate with, has a beautiful tradition of singing dharma. Their songs carry the essence of their teachings, inviting us to arrive in the present moment, to embrace our suffering, and to awaken joy, all wrapped in soothing melodies.

When I first visited in 2022, I felt deeply held by these songs. But there was one that stayed with me long after I left: Silence Is an Ocean. Its lyrics go:

Silence is an ocean
Language is a river
A hundred voices inside saying
That’s enough for now

When the ocean calls to you
Don’t walk to the river
Listen to the ocean
That’s enough for now

Something about it struck a chord in me. I couldn’t explain why, but I even asked Brother Phap Huu if he could create a calligraphy of those words for me, which I now keep in my practice room. Since then, my relationship with silence has deepened, and I’ve discovered how often teachers, masters, and Sufi poets write about it with reverence.

A Thay Phap Huu Original ;-)

Recently, I completed a 10-day silent meditation retreat at Hridaya Yoga. It was the most I’ve ever sat to meditate in my life, sitting for 5 to 6 hours a day! My ego, of course, chimed in with its favorite narrative: “This is so unnecessary!” But I recognized it as just another tactic to make me give up. So I stayed with it, and what followed were some of the most profound insights and meditation experiences I’ve ever had. My relationship with silence and stillness has transformed. Now, I crave my daily hour of sitting meditation, a sacred time to practice and simply be.

The voices that live within

In this process of observing myself, I’ve identified two main voices in my mind: the Storyteller and the Observer.

The Storyteller is pure drama. (Of course—how could it not be? I grew up on Marimar, La Potra Zaina, Carrusel de Niños, Betty La Fea, no latino my age escaped Telenovelas) She’s both my biggest cheerleader and my harshest critic. She loves spinning scenarios, imagining conversations, and weaving melodramatic narratives that feed either fantasies or melodramas.

The Observer, on the other hand, sees right through her theatrics. The Observer practices noticing the Storyteller’s creations, labeling them as thoughts, and gently sweeping them away with a deep breath. Sometimes, though, the Observer lets the Storyteller run free. But when the stories go too far—turning into full-blown cinematic productions worthy of an Oscar—it steps in to bring things back to center.

And then, there’s a third presence I’ve only recently met. I call it Nada (nothing).

Nada is neither the Storyteller nor the Observer, it’s not me. Nada simply is. It exists beyond both, before both, or perhaps alongside them, always there but rarely noticed. Nada has no gender, no form, no voice. It is the stillness that holds everything, like an ocean. Vast, expansive, empty. Peace.

Each time Nada appears, the Storyteller and the Observer rush to label it, to make sense of it, and in doing so, it slips away.

Shams Tabrizi, Rumi’s spiritual teacher, once wrote:

“The word is a bridge. Silence is an ocean.”

It’s the same teaching as the Plum Village song (perhaps inspired by Shams’s words?). This connection only fully clicked when I sat in the vastness of my own inner ocean, discovered through stillness and silence, a few weeks ago. A place of pure being, pure isness, pure awareness.

I arrived there a few times during the later days of the ten days; In that moment, I didn’t know if I was breathing or not, but for sure I was so still that I could feel my body rocking back and forth just from my heartbeat.

Although I’ve kept my discipline of long sits, practicing all the steps to arrive to stillness (basically self-hypnotize), I haven’t been able to reunite with Nada. The content of my mind is busy again, packed with day-to-day stuff. I do notice some big differences in me now; I think with a lot more clarity; creativity flows through me, my energy level is high, and I’m feeling joyful and full of life!

Now that I’m back home, in the busyness of everyday life, it’s been challenging to connect to the ocean within, but there is this knowing in me that tasted the flavor of pure being. I want to rush back to it again, but as Thay teaches:

“When you practice slowing down, you see the beauty of the present moment. There is no need to hurry; the present moment is all we need.” Thich Nhat Hanh