Why Sit in Silence and Stillness?

Meditation, in its simplest form, is sitting in silence and stillness. So when I invite you to join a 2, 5, or 7-day retreat to do something that seems so basic, you might naturally wonder: Why is it worth it?

To understand the value of a retreat, we have to return to the reason we began exploring spiritual life in the first place. If you’re like me—and I imagine you are—your spiritual path wasn’t something you were born into. You came to it, either suddenly or gradually, because something in you was drawn beyond the surface of things.

Over time, you gave more and more of your attention to this call. You read books. You found teachers. You engaged in practices. You attended workshops and retreats. Take a moment and ask yourself: Why did I start doing all that? What was I seeking?

For me, it began in childhood. I experienced moments—glimpses, really—that revealed something vast beyond the ordinary. I sensed that the reality I was familiar with was only a thin veneer covering an infinitely mysterious expanse. Every time I touched that deeper dimension, I felt an irresistible pull to return. The sense of wonder and adventure it stirred in me has never let go. I simply can’t ignore the call of the mystery.
And if you’re following my work, I suspect the same is true for you.

So, why sit in silence and stillness?

Because the mystery isn’t far away. In fact, it’s right here—always. Just beyond our habitual focus of attention lies a dimension of being that defies comprehension. And the most direct path to encountering that mystery is through silence and stillness.

When we rest in silence and stillness, the universe begins to open from the inside out.

Of course, the challenge is that meditation is much harder than it sounds. I often say the difficulty of meditation lies in how simple it actually is. The way to meditate is simply to sit, silent and still. That’s it. And yet we spend so much time trying to figure out how to do it.

But every attempt to try is a subtle avoidance. Trying to be silent and still is just another way of not being silent and still. We resist the stark nothingness of silence because, at some level, we fear disappearing.

Yes, the part of us identified with the ego—or even with a higher spiritual self—wants to preserve itself. It resists the leap into the unknown. But that leap, which feels like a kind of death, is actually the doorway to a miraculous expansion of reality. We don’t die in the silence—we discover what is.

I could write many books (and I have) about why this leap into the unknown is the most important transition any of us can make. But ultimately, words don’t convince anyone. Fortunately, if you’re reading this, you already know. That’s why you invest your time and energy into your spiritual life. You know it’s worth it.

A retreat—whether for two days or seven, in-person or online—is a sacred opportunity to cross the boundary of the ordinary and enter the inconceivable. It’s a leap into the unknown, into oblivion, into pure being. And it’s wonderful.

A well-held retreat creates a safe and protected space where that leap can happen—and where we can rest in the unknown. When we sit for extended periods in the emptiness beyond the familiar, something shifts. We change. We adapt to a new way of being. Our nervous system recalibrates to hold more of who we truly are.

And it all happens on its own… when we sit in silence and stillness.

This is why I encourage people to join retreats as often as they can.