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During our trip to Ashbridge Park, not only did I have a good time, but I noticed how effectively our class has cirlced back to the objectives of our class stated during the first few classes. I remember we wished to gain a greater understanding of the region of bryn mawr and the location and history surrounding it as well as an ecological understanding of our world through various perspectives (through fiction, poetry, feminism, nonfiction). I found that our experience in Ashbridge Park served as a holistic "Wrap up" to our course - we learned about the history of the creek as well as the geography of it in relation to our campus and philadelphia as well as efforts of environmental conservation and renovation - and of course - some poetry! We had also made the day friendly and actively serving to refresh and renew us all through good, healthy food (fruits) and de-stress chants, movements, and shouts!

My favorite aspect of the visit, however, was the group poem at the end. I found that activity to really ground me in the present moment and elevate our overall experience in the park through the eyes of each one of us in our particular contribution to the moment, and the year overall.

I thought I would share this story as a reflection on how sometimes finding voice in an environment that is not yet ready to listen can be more turbulant than silence. And only through the death (or the infinite silence) of an individual do we appreciate just how precious that voice was. 

Jenni Rivera, a famous Mexican-American singer known for her work in Mexican banda and norteno music, passed away in a horrible plane crash. She was infamous among her female fans (including myself and my mother) for speaking out about the violence she experienced in her relationships with men through her music. She was also named spokeswoman for the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence. She however, was judged a lot by many of her "enemies", as she would call them, because they did not necessarily agree with her strong and effervescent personality. She was constantly mediatized as loud and obnoxious.

Her story complicated silence for me, and reminds me of Icouldn'tthinkofanoriginalname's post: /exchange/procrastination-turns-productivity-and-deep-reflection-incarceratedlifers#comment-139771 in that it is through her death/eternal silence that she is glorified and heard.

Lost for Now

            College. The word elicits many different responses, reactions, and connotations. However one important and often overlooked aspect of the college experience is that of being lost. There is an unrealistic expectation, whether unspoken or otherwise, of college students to know what they want to study when they enter college. Not only is this expectation unrealistic for 18 year olds, it is also detrimental to their learning experience. But what does it mean to be lost? And how does it interact with academia? Moreover, what can be gained from it? Rebecca Solnit cites the Old Norse definition of los, from which lost comes from, as the disbanding of an army (Solnit, 7). As Solnit says, this suggests falling out of formation, or going beyond what one knows. In the academic sense, this is exactly what being lost implies. College is a time for students to go beyond what they know, to dabble in as many things as possible before discovering their passion. Being lost academically has value, it can help one find themselves academically as well as personally, shown through Rebecca Solnit’s Field Guide to Getting Lost.

I went to Catholic school from age 5 to 13, so when Sr. Linda-Susan Beard spoke with our class on Thursday, I felt an immediate and somewhat overwhelming connection to what she was saying. I, too, was a very contemplative child and was particularly faithful from ages 8 through 12, but it's something that until recently I'd come to reject or deny in my personal history. I didn't pray on a regular basis by myself, but I did find comfort in praying in church with my class or during morning prayers each day at school. At the time, prayer for me often did involve asking for something from God. I prayed for family members to stay healthy. I prayed for peace in war stricken regions. I prayed for forgiveness for arguing with my sisters.

Sometimes, though, I was able to enter the entirely contempletive and silent kind of meditation that Sr. Linda-Susan Beard spoke to – and in those moments, I felt utterly at peace with myself and my surroundings. I remember distictly one day in seventh grade when my class went to confessions (to tell the priest our sins and ask forgiveness for those wrongdoings) and I spent almost thirty minutes entranced by the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. I thought it was the most beautiful and God-filled moment I'd ever experienced. 

During Linda Susan Beard’s visit in out class, I couldn’t help but continually think back to Sister Alice Strogen, who passed away last week and who danced in and out of my life over the last ten years, always playing an important role.  As I’ve been thinking about how to process her very sudden death, I keep going back to the grief that Sister Alice herself had to face on an almost constant basis as a byproduct of her job at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.  What was so interesting about her is that (unlike many doctors and nurses I know) she really did allow herself to take the time to feel intense sorrow over the deaths of the children she worked with.  But after pausing for that moment of sadness, she kept on doing her work with the same commitment and passion.  I was drawn to Prof. Beard’s experience participating in a silent retreat after the murder of her nephew, and how she relayed the ways in which she dealt with her inner, personal demons during that time.  In the piece we read for class, she talked about an “encounter with the Lord” she had on her way back from that retreat.

A recurring problem I have noticed, in participating in the silence exercises, has been this fear that in silence the individual is trapped within the walls of her own real life problems and worries. That is to say, that even in one's own mental and bodily silence one can't escape his or her reality. During Linda-Susan Beard's visit this week, a classmate of ours asked what can we do to escape our reality and truly be silent within. Beard responded saying that through silence, she did not escape, but rather found new perspective and thus new ways of confronting her reality.  This reminded me a lot of the women in Sweeney. I couln't help but think about how the women in Sweeney's book used literacy and reading as a way to deal with reality. The women related to characters in books and found comfort in knowing that there were similarities and differences between themselves and the characters. However, they did not use their connections as excuses to dwell on thier lives of crime and 'victimhood', but to open themselves to new perspectives.

As Linda-Susan Beard spoke to our class, she mentioned her retreat of silence during a rough time in her life. As she described her experience she mentioned how, in that context, reading was not allowed. I found myself questioning that in relation to the women in Sweeney's book. What would happen if we took the women from Sweeney's book and asked them to do a silent retreat in which they could not read? 

"Silence is pregnant, not empty.”

When Linda-Susan Beard came to our class, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew that I had heard her name in class and during my time at Bryn Mawr but that was all I knew of her.

But when she began to speak, I was immediately pulled in. I was worried that I was going to have a hard time paying attention since I had such a long week but I was completely pulled in from the beginning.

Last week I felt anxious knowing that Linda-Susan Beard was coming to class.  As an atheist I must admit I often make assumptions about people who hold religious positions, particularly that they are going to shove religion down my throat, or that they will automatically hold distain for me as an atheist.   I arrived to class a little late and frazzled, which added to my anxiety.  Right when Linda-Susan began speaking though, I felt very soothed by her voice alone.    I really loved her introduction of humming followed by silence, as it allowed me to collect myself.  When she was telling her story of being angry at God for allowing her nephew to be murdered, my eyes began to water, as this is a story I felt I related to when I was younger and questioned the existance of God in response to the death of my mother.   I really wanted to ask Linda-Susan if there were something specific about the silence that allowed her to forgive/reconcile her relationship with God.  I also wanted to ask her what she thought the connection was between religion in morality, because the struggle I face the most as an atheist is people thinking I am therefore not a moral person.  I didn't ask this though, because I felt anyway I would phrase it was going to sound like an attack on her religion, which I feel she might hear a lot on a Bryn Mawr's campus.  Even though I didn't ask my questions, I am still glad she came to class, as it reminded me once again that I hold assumptions that need to be challenged. 

After Linda-Susan Beard's visit to our class on Thursday, i've really been thinking of silence in different ways. As I said in another post, I'm in awe at how "full" and "rich" silence is, and how she needs it in order to recharge. Listening to her speak, and watching the facial expressions showed me just how much she enjoys the experience of silence, whether she uses it as a way to confront aspects of her life that she needs to deal with or because it gives her the opportunity to do something she likes, such as gardening. Her visit left me with questions on this sort of relationship with silence is built. Is it something that takes a long time? Is it something that works for some but not for others? I would love to hear more from her about how to make silence an enjoyable experience used to recharge. I usually feel jittery and definitely notice the small moving clock, but I want a contemplative experience with silence that will leave me feeling rich and full.