By: Ed Barnabas

For those who know me, the thought of me at a silent meditation retreat might seem laughably improbable. I’m known for being loud, opinionated, leaping headfirst, and living in organized chaos. But something in me longed to shift gears—to pause, to listen, to not know. And so, I surrendered to the silence.

I found myself at Spirit Rock Meditation Center in the hills of Marin, California—a place where silence stretches seemingly forever and is as idyllic as I could have imagined. There, amidst the golden light and rustle of trees, I sat. And sat. And walked. And sat again. Days unfolded in noble silence as I explored the four sacred qualities of Buddhist mindfulness: loving-kindness, compassion, joy, and equanimity—the brahmavihāras, or “sublime homes.” Not lofty ideals, but living, breathing states of being that illuminate how we relate to pain, to joy, and to one another.

Oddly, I did not miss my voice. In silence, I began to hear—the rustling leaves, the looks of others in quiet knowing, my own thoughts. Without the usual noise, my senses sharpened and so did my understanding. I began to observe my own inner mechanics: how I respond, what drives me, what truly brings light. The insights came slowly, but surely—some beautiful, some raw, all real.

One of the deepest truths I met was around suffering—not as something to avoid, but as a mirror we must be brave enough to face. True compassion, I learned, demands that we not turn away from pain, but move toward it with courage. It’s easy to help in ways that feel safe or familiar. But to love in a way that truly transforms? That requires discomfort. Presence. A willingness to unmake and remake the self.

This retreat was not an ending or a one-time escape—it was a return. A return to presence. To clarity. To the possibility that within stillness lies the strength to live more fully and give more freely. I stepped into that silence seeking something... and found everything I didn’t know I needed.