Silence Is the New Psychedelic

I just returned from a 3-day silent retreat with my son and I don’t say this lightly: something inside me was disassembled and rearranged in all the best ways. Not in the “new haircut, new me” kind of way. Gently. Deliberately. Softly.

This wasn’t my first foray into the experiment of facing myself with nothing but my breath, gravity, and no chance to shop online. My first silent retreat was a five-day stint that was interrupted, somewhat dramatically, with a trip to the Stanford ER. Yes, I broke my silence for medical staff, which seemed reasonable at the time. Thankfully, I was okay and returned to the retreat, admittedly cloaked in a bit of mystery and the lingering question: WTF was that?

Still, I left with the feeling that I’d be back.

Fast-forward to this recent retreat. The set up: you’re on the grounds with redwoods, wandering through quiet gardens, gently pried away from your phone, your words, your notebooks—anything that might let you escape the moment.

And guiding this surrender is Vinny Ferraro https://vinnyferraro.org/ of Big Heart City in San Francisco. If mindfulness has a rockstar, in my mind it’s Vinny. His talks are equal parts raw, wise, funny, soul-piercing and transformative. 

One afternoon guest teacher Matthew Brensilver,https://www.matthewbrensilver.org/ walked in, gently blew up my internal framework, and left me with more clarity than I knew I was missing.

The invitation at this retreat isn’t to “be good at silence.” There are no gold stars for how monk-like you look while walking slowly. We were simply asked to bring a compassionate curiosity toward whatever arose. No pressure to “achieve” insight. Just an invitation to be with ourselves as we are.

It’s hard to describe what happens when you get quiet enough to actually hear yourself—not just the running thoughts, or the anxious loops, but the quieter knowing that lives underneath. Limited distractions. Minimal escape hatches. And weirdly, it works. I touched tenderness in myself I didn’t even know I had access to. Not necessarily grand realizations, but small, seismic shifts. I slowed down enough to notice how much I hadn’t been noticing.

Yes, there was a moment where I wondered, “Is this where I lose my mind?”—a fun little intermission brought to you by unstructured thought and no music to drown it out.

But mostly, I discovered a space within myself that felt comforting, steady, and real. A place I could return to again and again, that felt like a home I forgot I had.

And here’s the kicker—when the noise dropped, the volume of awareness rose. Colors looked brighter. The silence had texture. My sense of time went wobbly in the best way. Was this a silent retreat… or a psychedelic experience sponsored by trees and stillness?

Now I’m back in the land of emails, deadlines, and bills. The world remains very much on fire. But something remains with me, too. I’m not measuring “change” or “success” from this experience. I’m just staying close to what feels true: a more gentle way of being, a little more trust in what I don’t know, and the wild idea that maybe rest is not a luxury, but a radical act of presence.

So here’s something to consider: Find some quiet. A moment. Then maybe string a few together. Let yourself rest without needing to earn it. Let yourself be without needing to perform. Turn down the noise so that the knowing can rise up.

Because this life is fleeting. And underneath all the chaos, there's something beautiful just waiting for us to hear and experience.

And if you're lucky, maybe the brights will seem brighter too.