Taking a walk one day through a forest of massive old-growth redwood trees, I became aware of not only the beauty of these plant giants but also of the sound they make—the sound that we call silence. As I walked, every so often twigs broke beneath my feet, thereby making a crackling sound, but when I stood still there was not a sound to be heard. There was complete silence. How could this be, I wondered? Here were these majestic life forms, fully alive but not emitting a sound. And I knew that this was not just a silent moment for them; it was their ongoing reality. They were silent twenty-four-seven.
Then in my thoughts I contrasted this plant reality with the human reality. For plants, silence is natural. They don’t have to work at it or set aside a time to practice it. Rather it is just a part of their created makeup. But for us humans, silence seems to be an unnatural state of being—one that we have to force ourselves into. Most of the time we are not only not silent; we are downright noisy. Naturally speaking, human beings seem to have become like noise machines, viewing silence as foreign and ill fitting. Therefore noise makes us feel comfortable, while silence tends to make us uncomfortable, self-conscious, and squirmy.
So I asked myself: What is it about our human condition that makes us comfortable with noise and uncomfortable with silence? True, human beings have voices that seem to be made for speaking and communicating, while plants have no such function. So we naturally put forth our voice as a means of self-expression and making our needs known. But most of us do more than that. Sometimes we use our voice as a kind of playful tool. We use it not only to speak but also to laugh, pontificate, carry out social banter, etc. In many ways we use our voice just to make noise. But why would we want to do that? Perhaps because we feel the need to validate our existence.
Another reason is that we simply like to hear ourselves. We like to hear our voice because it is a part of our unique individual persona. In other words, the fact that we are free to use our voice for non-essential, frivolous pursuits has become for many of us a way to promote our ego. So to the degree that our ego feels insecure we will probably be inclined to make a lot of noise with our voice in order to draw attention to ourselves, as if to say, “Hey look at me. Please recognize that I have some worth and personality charisma—that I am a unique human being with something to offer others.”
But redwood trees and all plants for that matter do not seem to have a sense of self. Neither do they have a need to communicate or speak. And they certainly don’t go about trying to draw attention to themselves. Rather they just are. And perhaps most amazingly, they seem content with just being. They have no voice and no apparent means of self-expression, and that is not a problem for them. When a human being loses the ability to speak or make noise, we tend to view them as unfortunate and their plight as tragic. But plants never speak or make noise, and that seems to be perfectly okay with them. They do not feel unfortunate or slighted. Rather just the opposite might very well be true—that they not only feel okay about the silence of their being; they live happily and joyfully and suffer none of the plagues inherent in the human condition. If they could talk, one of the first things they would probably say is how happy they are to not have been born as a human being.
But we are so full of ourselves that we look at both plants and animals as lower creatures—that is to say, creatures that are not as wonderfully created as human beings. We see them as being alive but somehow dumb. In other words, human beings have so much more potential to live a full, sentient life—to feel more deeply, perceive more trenchantly, understand more expansively, achieve more, etc, The fact that for most of us this fullness of life is still only in the realm of potential is something we tend to overlook. The fact that human beings are at this stage of our consciousness evolution generally a tormented lot, often given over to pain and unhappiness is ignored. Most of us still feel grateful to be human. And we have been taught that though our higher potential has also been a source of pain for us, it is nonetheless giftedness.
Of course, the truth is that we are the most gifted among all the creatures of the earthly plane. But what makes us so is not our highly developed brain and certainly not the ability to speak and make noise. Rather it is a created endowment called spiritual consciousness—an endowment that many of us have yet to even acknowledge that we possess. This spiritual consciousness is, in truth, a very great gift. But ironically, the more in touch we become with it, the more humble we become. And the more humble we become, the less inclined we are to go around making a lot of noise. Why is this? Because the very definition of humility is that the human ego ceases to be a motivating force in our psyche, so that we no longer feel the need to put ourselves forward and try to get others to acknowledge us and appreciate us. This then makes us into a much quieter version of humanity. True, we may still at times have the need to express ourselves or make our needs known. But eventually, even these impulses become stiller and stiller. And for those of us who have taken up the practice of meditation we actually thrive on setting aside a time each day to practice being utterly still and quiet. In a very real sense we practice being like a redwood tree—fully alive, but silent. And the deeper we go in this practice, the more we begin to delineate how different aspects of our being are impacted by our silence. We see that for some aspects being still and quiet feels unnatural, so that they tend to act like spoiled children whenever we go into meditation. But other aspects are not only more comfortable with the silence; they actually seem to thrive on it. This holds especially true for our spiritual consciousness.
As we realize this about consciousness it may seem puzzling to us at first. Why does our endowment of consciousness thrive on quietness and humility? Clearly that is not the agenda of our egoic mind. It always seeks to thrust us forward into prominence and force others to pay attention to us. But our consciousness thrives on the stillness achieved in meditation and seems to be perfectly comfortable with taking the lower place—that is, with becoming like nothing. Ironically then, our endowment of spiritual consciousness seems to have more in common with a silent redwood tree than with a noisy ego-driven human being. Like the redwood tree, our consciousness seems to be content with just being. But at the same time our consciousness cannot be looked at as being anti-social. It is, in fact, the noblest social function within the human makeup. And as we realize all this we begin to rethink our former ideas about silence.
It is not that redwood trees have consciousness like that of a human being. In this sense they are, in fact, inferior to humans. But their silent quality is such a profound attribute of their being that human beings would indeed do well to humble themselves and learn from it. For by doing so, we would actually be learning about our own endowment of spiritual consciousness.
Redwood trees are naturally silent (as are all plants). They were created that way. But human consciousness is not naturally silent. Rather it is drawn to the silence as a sort of instinctual impulse for experiencing peace and rest. The question is: Why? Why is our endowment of consciousness drawn to silence and why does it experience peace and rest whenever it achieves a silent state in meditation? The answer to this question comes through discovering something about silence that is not readily apparent to our human perceptions: silence is not silent!
According to our sensual perception, silence is the absence of sound. So we have been quick to deduce that in the realm of sound it is nothingness. And nothingness cannot logically have any worth or value. Why then is human consciousness drawn to nothingness? The reason is that silence is not nothing; it is, in truth, an act of worship. Even in the realm of sound silence is not silent; only our senses perceive it that way. But some among us who have tuned in fully to the silence have discovered this truth about it: they have heard the sound it makes. In the East where more than a few have developed this ability they have given this sound a name. They call it Om.
Om is a vibration that pulsates throughout our universe at all times, and for those who have ears to hear, this vibration emits a sound. Not only this, but the sound of Om actually has a meaning. In other words, it is not just noise; it is purposeful. This is because it is part of this universe’s created framework—a framework in which everything has a place and a purpose. And the purpose of the sound of Om is to return worship to the creator that created the universe. What is the content of Om’s worshipful message? It is the expression of a creature’s acceptance of the way things are. It is a creature’s way of saying: It’s all perfect. There is not an ounce of room for improvement! That is why plants are silent. They are worshipful creatures who not only accept their place in the created scheme of things; they instinctually acknowledge the perfection of it all. And that is why the human endowment of spiritual consciousness is drawn to the silence. It too wants to join in the worship.
Does the creator of our universe demand or expect worship from Its creatures? No, of course not. Worship is not an obligation or religious ritual; it is a natural response to the revelation of the perfection of being. It is an act of surrender and self-abnegation. Of course, plants have no sense of self to abnegate, so they naturally spend their entire lives in worship. Their silence never stops proclaiming the glory of the creator. But human beings have a more complex makeup. True, we have an endowment of spiritual consciousness that is powerfully drawn to silence and worship, but we also have a mind that likes to spend its time building up a false sense of self (ego) and therefore strongly resists even the thought of surrender. For our spiritual consciousness, the sound of Om is both soothing and inspirational. But for our minds that same sound is a source of torment. Therefore when we are dominated by our endowment of consciousness we feel at peace, but if we are dominated by our mind we feel restless and unsettled. We do everything we can to avoid the silence and have no interest in the Om or in worship.
What all of this points to is the importance of our spiritual practice. For, the goal of all spiritual practice is the same: to bring forth into prominence our endowment of spiritual consciousness, while simultaneously denying the sense of self that our mind has worked so hard to build up. Why do we seek this goal? Because our endowment of consciousness is drawn to the things of peace, while our mind-built self is drawn to the things of war. Our consciousness is drawn to the silence of the Om, while our mind is busy making as much noise as it can. Our consciousness is naturally drawn to a life of worship, while our mind is focused only on self-aggrandizement.
Human consciousness is therefore harmonious with both the creator and the creation, while the human mind has shown itself to be hopelessly at odds with these. As our consciousness is brought forth into dominion in our psyche we begin to flow harmoniously with the law of the universe. We turn around and begin to swim with the current of life that we had up until then been swimming against with all our mind-dominated strength. And this turnaround not only marks the onset of a new orientation of rest and peace; it also becomes a very real path of healing for our battered psyche, including our body. For, perfect health is an outworking of harmony, not disharmony. But with mind-dominance human health has become so chronically elusive that we have built an entire culture around a dependency upon the medical profession.
Consciousness thrives on the sound of silence, but it also is powerfully attracted to the Om. That is why it seeks out and eagerly receives this ministry. It is also why those who are truly committed to their spiritual practice often incorporate the external silence of creatures such as plants into their practice. Surrounding ourselves with silent, worshipping creatures is a wonderful way to go deeper in our practice. For, it is like listening to the sound of the river—the river whose current flows harmoniously toward the perfection of being that we call God.
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