“Children should be seen and not heard”, goes the old adage. But in this day and age, the words ‘children’ and ‘silence’ rarely go together, indeed, the moments of absolute quiet at our school are few and far between!
Away on a silent retreat however, I discover a different kind of connection. Here, I step away from the relentless noise and pace of my adult life, and in doing so, open (or reopen) my eyes in silent wonder to an astoundingly beautiful world. Silence is a great magnifier, and in it, time slows down, the senses are awakened, and my powers of observation sharpen. To my surprise and delight, I find that this precious time, taken in the name of spiritual and grown up pursuits, also helps me to regain a view of the world that is unmistakably child-like.
The Ignation tradition believes in the power of looking to nature for a glimpse of the divine, and as I walk around the stunning grounds in Janda Baik, I am struck by how beautiful and varied the different kinds of moss are, thriving against all odds even in the poorest and most ordinary of environments. A memory floats back from a long time ago and a scene replays of my cousin and I, both 5 years old, examining, with great curiosity, the moss that grew on the brick wall in our grandmother’s garden. This interest and sense of wonder, overtaken by the business of life, has lain dormant for decades as a result.
Oliver Sacks, the British neurologist and naturalist, once said that “the love of nature and living things, is an essential part of the human condition.” The truth of this statement is apparent when observing children, who retain an increasingly fragile connection to ancient ways of being that our modern, frenzied world has largely rejected. This powerful and indeed, spiritual wisdom that they so effortlessly offer us is perhaps the key (on our doorstep!) to the slower, deeper living so many of us are searching for.