I went on a silent retreat. Even I thought I was mad when I sent the organiser, my friend Mariam, a message saying I was coming. It had been a busy two years for my brain with a lot to fix, mend, grieve, nurture, explore, enjoy, sieve, filter, invite, juggle. One morning last year, when it took me two hours to read a 20-minute article because I capitulated to every distraction, I seriously worried my brain was broken. So, I booked this retreat mainly to find out if I had any agency left over my mind.
Before I committed, I asked Mariam, “What happens if I want to break my silence?”
“Nothing,” she said.
Good enough for me. Instapay. Send.
The retreat, in a stunning location in Siwa, was surprisingly easy and joyful. We had yoga classes in the mornings and in the evenings, and an optional lecture every day. We were not allowed to speak of course, not one word for the entire six days. We also handed in our phones and weren’t allowed any screens, or books, or anything that would distract us from what’s going on inside. We were only allowed a notebook and pen. In the first days, I wrote for England.
I had to buy an old-fashioned clock to be able to tell the time. There were some moments of boredom for sure, and some of impatience. A large part of the experience was to work out what to do with those when you couldn’t just plunge into your phone. Evenings were difficult. No Netflix or podcast to help you unwind made for the most anxious part of the retreat, sitting in a pitch-black room, waiting for sleep to arrive.
The days however were blissful. There were excellent walks to be had, and excellent food to be eaten. I did a lot of both. I brought along a coffee machine and enough Shaheen Colombian Medium for everyone, for the week. I found everything funny or fascinating. I explored olive groves and sand dunes, walked over salt lakes, and climbed a chalky mountain. I made up games, like working out which footsteps belonged to who, and I played noughts and crosses with myself (I won). I found the weirdest things inspirational, including the donkey who couldn’t care less about her pitch and continued to bray like she was auditioning for a musical. Goals.
Over the week though, something remarkable happened. The congestion in my head eased. Thoughts went from a crushing scrum to an orderly English queue: one thought at a time, you’ll each get your turn. It was thrilling, but also deeply frustrating cause I couldn’t tell anyone about it.
It must be said that I didn’t go to this retreat looking for spiritual awakening. I went looking for quiet, and I found it. I also wanted certain people in my life to reframe their idea of what constitutes an emergency: can I order matcha (you know who you are), where’s my socks (you know who you are), there’s no Provolone in Gourmet (mum). Me being out of reach was as much an education for them as it was for me.
Since Siwa I’ve been a little more disciplined about my morning routine. I say “disciplined” but I’ve employed the infrastructure of a company in America to lock me out of Facebook and Instagram from 9pm until 11 am. On the “Freedom” website, there’s a whole bunch of people, including a VP of Marketing, a Technical Advisor and many software engineers in Durham, North Carolina, all holding firmly shut the door to my socials.
But, I have been doing something lovely since I got back. Every day I make my coffee and go sit in the garden in silence for at least half an hour. No meditation, no breath counting, no mantra. Just sitting, allowing all thoughts the freedom to wander and explore the crevices of my brain. Every once in a while, I pull an overexcited one back in and give it a pat and tell it to be a good boy and calm down. I give it a treat, and it is instantly soothed.

A reflection peice on JDV life written by independent writer Jailan Zayan.