Silence and stillness sometimes seem as though they are, or should be, the same thing – but, as Leigh Anderson of the Spiritual Naturalist Society points out, this is not quite so in the contemplative life:

Silence in meditation transcends the mere absence of external sound. It represents an internal quietude, an expansive space where the mind’s constant chatter diminishes to mere whispers. This pursuit of silence is, in essence, a battle against our intrinsic human nature — a nature that fills every moment of potential stillness with relentless thought. The path to internal silence is fraught with challenges, as our minds are wired to think, analyze, and incessantly chatter. Yet, the rewards of cultivating this form of silence are profound, offering mental clarity, emotional equilibrium, and a profound connection to the present moment that feels deeply rooted and unshakable.

On the flip side of the meditative coin lies stillness — not merely the absence of physical motion but a deep mental repose where inner agitation dissolves. Within the realm of stillness, we discover the ability to observe our thoughts and emotions without judgment, to exist in the present moment without the compulsion to act. This stillness isn’t merely an end goal but a gateway; it opens us up to deeper introspection, fostering an environment where heightened awareness and profound insights can flourish.

In Quaker usage, silence – the context of meeting for worship – is always acknowledged to be more, and often other, than an absence of words. Birdsong, the traffic outside, Friends shifting slightly in their seats, breathing, voices in the street – these are all drawn into the silence of meeting, and become part of its fabric; and so it is in one’s own solitary practice. Extraneous sounds are not interruptions; they are an integral element in the silence itself.

Stillness, though, is an inevitably inward place. Ultimately, it is not other than objectless awareness, the second part of Martin Heidegger’s definition of Gelassenheit: “an openness to mystery”.

I was standing at a busy crossroads waiting for lights to change. Traffic was racing by, people buzzing back and forth; noise and fumes, action, restlessness, rush, impatience, thoughts, demands. Suddenly and unexpectedly, I felt my whole existence pause. I looked to see whether the green man was showing yet, followed by the pressurizing countdown of seconds allowed to cross the junction, people crossing over each other. But I felt strangely calm and quiet. I felt “otherness” deep within, a stillness, and my whole life shifted into the present.

Joanna Godfrey Wood, In Search of Stillness, p.13

Within stillness, all that obscures awareness seems to settle out, like the sediment in a disturbed pond when it is left in peace again. Just as the small sounds within and without a Quaker meeting house do not interrupt the silence but become woven into it, so passing thoughts and images, and physical sensations, merely become part of the nature of stillness itself. Tara Brach:

With practice, recognizing our natural awareness takes less and less of an effort or sense of doing. Rather than climbing up a hill to get a view, we are learning the art of relaxing back and wakefully inhabiting the whole vista. We look back into awareness and then simply let go into what is seen. We become more at home in awareness than in any story of a self who is falling short or on our way somewhere else. We are at home because we have seen and experienced firsthand the vast and shining presence that is the very source of our being.

Radical Acceptance, p.317