Dear Friends ~ It has been fifteen years since that winter day in Vermont, in a small house on Skunk Hollow Road, when Nan Merrill placed a colorful bundle of Friends of Silence newsletters into my hands. The air outside was cold and hushed, but inside, something radiant was stirring.
"Here's my baby," she said.
In that moment, a current passed between us—silent, sure, unmistakable. It was as if something leapt from her heart into mine, not words or instructions, but a living transmission. My body trembled; my eyes filled. Later, when I found the courage to ask if she knew what had happened, Nan smiled gently. "Of course I do," she whispered. "I sent it."
She was not simply handing over a file or a task. She was entrusting a spirit--her dream of a gathered community listening for the voice of Silence in a noisy world. She wanted to know if we could hold it with tenderness, if we could let it grow without her.
Nan died the following year, but the flame she passed on has never gone out. It found new life here at Rolling Ridge, among the hills and forests that breathe the same stillness she loved. Over these fifteen years, her dream has rooted itself in many hands and hearts—Anne, Bella, Trish, Linda, Lindsay, Mary Ann, Kate, Joy, Katie, Todd, Bob, Billy and so many others who have carried forward her invitation to live as friends of Silence. Silence, Nan used to say, is not always our friend. She can be demanding, unpredictable, fierce. She draws us through surrender, through the ache of letting go, until all that remains is what is real and true. To stretch out one's hand toward Silence is to consent to be changed.
And yet, how could we wish it otherwise? These fifteen years have been a pilgrimage—of listening more deeply, of learning to trust the slow work of love, of holding this fragile and luminous "baby" as it grows in its own mysterious way.
When I think back to that day in Vermont, I realize now that Nan didn't just entrust her work to me. She entrusted it to all of us—to everyone who reads these words, who pauses each month to enter the quiet, who lets Silence do her transformative work within.
So today, as we mark fifteen years of tending Nan's flame, we give thanks for her life, for her vision, and for the living Silence that continues to call us onward.
May we keep listening.
May we keep walking.
May we keep the flame alive.
~ Bob
There is a kind of giving which is receiving, just as there is a kind of loving that feels like being loved. When the mind is concentrated in the heart and some simple words -- like "Jesus, I love you" -- begin to flow naturally with the breath, if grace is there, the mind comes into a sort of natural union with the mind of Christ. The giving and loving are being done in one's own mind instead of one doing them.
The mind of Christ must be a constant flow of love. If we can concentrate our scattered minds on loving, then our minds and His mind are doing the same thing. Eastern philosophers posit that two things which are in the same flow become the same. They cannot remain separate. This inner loving of the Lord is simply opening one's mind to let Love flow through us.
Alone, this type of inner prayer and loving are not enough. For most of us, our minds are far too scattered to remain in this prayerful state for more than a moment or two. Our inner loving and service must be balanced by outer loving and service, by being and doing for others. Inner and outer loving enhance each other. When one sits quietly to pray, the inner joy is more easily accessible if one has just come from some active time of being open to those in need. And one is energized and inspired to serve others by inner prayer and loving. Jesus was a model of inner and outer loving since he was both a contemplative and an activist. This is why an "INNER CITY CONTEMPLATIVE" is not at all a contradiction in terms, but rather, it is a way to follow the Lord very closely ... to experience Him very closely.