​What I Heard in the Silence

Reflections from Gethsemani Abbey

This past week, I entered silence.

I stayed at Gethsemani Abbey, a Trappist monastery tucked into the rolling hills of Kentucky, for a silent retreat. No small talk, no texts, no background noise. Just quiet. And I wasn’t alone—I shared a room with my freshman-year college roommate, someone I’ve known for over two decades. We were randomly paired back in 2000, and despite (or maybe because of) our very different ways of living and thinking, we’ve built a relationship rooted in deep respect and honest curiosity.

(Mostly) Not speaking to each other for a full week was hard. But we honored the rules, and more importantly, we honored each other. In the silence, our friendship took on a new shape which is less about words, and more about presence.

I spent most of my time listening: to myself, to the universe, and to God. I’m not devout, but I do acknowledge: God is real. And I am never, ever alone. Neither are you. Even in total silence, the world hums. Birdsong in the morning, crickets in the dark -- these were the voices of a larger conversation, one that’s been happening long before I showed up and will continue long after I’m gone.

In that stillness, I remembered: creation is vast, connection is always available, and it’s often us with our busy minds and our constant noise who get in the way of what’s already waiting.

This week reminded me that the sacred doesn’t require belief, only attention.
And attention, it turns out, flourishes in silence.