For most of my life,  silence made me uncomfortable.

It was a void I felt I needed to fill – mostly with work or talk. It made me nervous; I thought it was lazy to be in silence, that I was wasting my precious time. I’m a talker.

What can I accomplish in silence?

Then a friend, a spiritual writer, told me that I was very wrong. Silence, he said, is not an interruption of work. It is the work.

That was some of the best advice I ever got.

I now understand what he meant.

Silence is precious to me; this morning, drawn into looking at the news on and off all day, I found myself getting anxious – about me, my work, money, the world, the spectacle of human beings at times.

I sat in my soft chair in the living room, put on my speaker, and played some of my favorite Gregorian Chant, sung by The Monks Of The Abbey of Notre Dame. Maria meditated alongside me.

I love Gregorian Chant, especially when I’m sitting in silence or meditating, but the Notre Dame choir is unique, almost eerily beautiful.

I often listen to this music when I am going to bed. Sure, the monks, men, and women are restful (more than Roy Orbinson or Johnny Cash, sure.)

Silence has many dimensions; everyone experiences it differently.

It can be a regression, an escape, a hiding place, or a powerful grounding tool to help calm.

In a world where there is so much din, so much troubling news, and in a mind that is excitable and constantly spinning, this music has been a powerful friend to me.

The silence was, in time, a revelation for me, it is one of the most powerful sounds on earth, but in our world, too much information and a stream of bad news means silence can’t often be heard. I had to go looking for it.

I still have to get my head clear, and that in itself is no small task.

I am learning how to do it. And it is sweet and calming beyond words.

Silence, says Thomas Merton, can mean presence, awareness, unification, self-discovery, or healing. There is, he said, damaging silence and positive silence.

Negative silence is something else I’ve experienced.

It can blur and confuse me, obscure my identity, and I can lapse into daydreams, grievances, and some of my many anxieties.

Positive silence, says Merton, is more of a disciplined choice that takes time and practice.

Philosopher Paul Tillich called silence “the courage to be.”

In silence, I have found the courage to be healthy, love, face the challenges of loss and aging, take the leap of faith and the risks of learning to be creative.

Merton writes about silence and meditation better than anyone I have found; he devoted his life and a great mind to silence.

In silence, he writes, is there that we come to know who we are and find the strength in the center of our being.

“For when we come face to face with ourselves in the lonely ground of our being,” he writes, “we confront many questions about the value of our existence, the reality of our commitments, the authenticity of our everyday lives.”

I can only speak for myself.

Without silence, I was lurching from one fear and grievance to another; my inner self was a train wreck. These disturbances were the foundation of my spirit. Silence helped me to see that and change.

Silence is one of my best friends and advocates.

Like the lives of so many in our frenetic culture,  life calls us to be constantly in movement, checking our phones, the news, our messages, our ambitions and resentments and obligations,  and our work.

That is unnatural and destructive.

I don’t believe human beings were meant or constructed to live like that far from animals and nature and quiet.

Loud voices and arguments were deafening me. I think this kind of abnormal stress breeds anger, disconnection, cruelty, and violence.

I came to see that I didn’t have a chance of understanding myself unless I jumped off of the carousel, saw my spinning, and felt it. Silence often made it go away.

When I was content to exist with what the shrinks call my “social self” and was caught up in our interaction with others in the frenzy and chaos that is our everyday lives, the “social self,” my contact with others, required a necessary and unavoidable dishonesty and deception.

We can’t be open every minute about every feeling and co-exist in our world. Only in silence can I see the truth clearly and be completely honest with me. I can’t run or hide or disavow me.

In silence, sooner or later, I came face to face with the truth, and that is where my true self started to emerge, and my real life began.

There is just too much noise in our world, and it is loud, frightening,  and soul-smothering.

“If we have no hope of being at peace with ourselves in our loneliness and silence,” writes Merton, “we will never be able to face ourselves at all: we will keep running and never stop.”

In silence, I came nose-to-nose to acknowledge the wide gap between who I wanted to be, who I thought I was, and who I was.

When I was at home with myself, I was finally able to take off the mask of friendliness and go and face the world with absolute commitment and authentic love.

That is the work in progress; that is why my friend was right. Silence is not an interruption.

Silence is the work.