In the Texas wilderness, far from everything familiar, Lotus Ranch felt like a world unto itself, a secluded haven where the noise of everyday life gave way to nature’s quiet.
Seventeen days of silence at that Ranch taught me to trust the quiet unfolding of life, to rest in the warmth of being, and to discover that peace asks nothing of me but to let this moment be enough.
But that discovery came through some difficult moments.
During my recent retreat, there were many moments when I wanted to leave. My mind offered one convincing reason after another: “You’re bored. You’ve done enough. People are waiting for you outside.” At times, its voice grew more urgent: “This is too much. I can’t take it anymore.”
Waves of thought would stir the silence, each carrying a reason to leave, until leaving felt like the most logical thing to do.
Then I remembered why I had come: to find the ocean’s stillness beneath the restless waves of my mind.
That recognition helped me stay.
I began to notice how restless my mind became when there was nothing to discuss, distract, solve, or pursue. The longer I stayed silent, the more insistent it seemed to demand my attention.
In the quiet, it felt as though my mind stirred the waters to keep its reflection alive.
Thoughts came as great waves, small waves, and gentle ripples. I was learning to let them pass without being swept away.
And they did pass.
After a particularly strong wave, I would find myself resting in stillness again. Nothing outside had been resolved. I had not acted on the thoughts that had seemed so urgent. Yet I was peaceful.
Looking back, I saw how easily a passing thought could feel like truth, and how much freedom I found in simply letting it pass.
The challenge was subtler than resisting worry. When troubling thoughts lost their pull, pleasant ones appeared: plans, exciting ideas, positive anticipation. They were easier to welcome, but they could carry me just as far from the stillness.
I learned that mastering my mind involved recognizing both movements: the thoughts I wanted to escape and those I wanted to entertain. Each invited me to leave the present moment’s simplicity.
We call it a silent retreat, yet its silence reaches far beyond the absence of words. For me, it was an invitation to let the inner conversation quieten and rest in the presence beneath it.
The reward was a growing confidence that I could be well without continually thinking about my life.
I could sit by myself peacefully, joyfully, with serenity and a clear, steady mind. I did not need interaction, distraction, or another thought to make the moment complete.
As this became familiar, my relationship with myself changed. So did a quiet love for myself, a warmth that came from no longer needing to escape my own company.
Stillness felt close to our real nature: something pure and whole beneath the constant attraction towards what we want and resistance to what we do not want.
I began to trust more deeply that this quiet presence, this well of peace, could remain available through changing circumstances, conditions, and environments.
I saw how my mind could gather a storm around a single moment, filling it with worry, longing, and imagined possibilities. As the clouds cleared, the world before me had not changed, yet I could meet it with a deeper sense of peace.
Experiencing this contentment and tranquility deepened my trust in my ability to face life as it unfolds. From that fullness, I could welcome each experience more easily, without asking life to be different for peace.
And being with myself did not feel like being alone. In the deepest silence, it felt like being with the whole of life, like a wave resting in the ocean, sensing that it had never been apart from it.
These understandings took root through experience.
This was one of the many profound gifts of those seventeen days. Other experiences reached beyond tranquility, contentment, peace, and joy. A few words could hardly honor their depth and magnificence. I will share more in time, as I allow them to settle within me and find words for what still feels beyond description.
My thoughts kept knocking on the door of tomorrow. Silence revealed that I was already home.
And remember…
“When the waves settle, the search for peace dissolves into the peace already here.”