''When you are gathered together, bhikkshus, there are two things to be done: discuss dhamma or maintain the noble silence.''
-Ariyapariyesana Sutta-
Silence, something that we all often seek, but all too often feel an itch within because we want to ask and be answered. Thoughts bubbling along the stream of the mind, often wish to reach the surface with a comment and rather than follow the ''silent teaching'' that is all around us, we lose sight of it by words. We want to ask, which breaks the silence, and then we want to hear a clear and loud answer, which also breaks the silence. Today, I learned what Noble Silence means, but not by uttering one word, nor hearing one word in answer.
On my walk this morning, through a park which was just being warmed by the first rays of summer, I came upon a small pond and as I escaped the sun over a bridge cooled by the roof of leaves, I looked down into the water to see a mother duck and just one, very tiny duckling. My first thoughts came along at how strange it was to see only one duckling with a mother, had there been others who had been trampled in their shells, or eaten soon after birth by scavenging dogs or cats? How could this little one survive, so tiny, so fragile? But those questions were not important, they were just distractions from what was really happening. Bubbling up, bubbling out, but I was lucky to be alone, so there was no one to ask or answer. How easy it is to slip into the past, to what could or might have been. Or fall into the future of what might be. You see, as an English teacher, I know these constructions are called ''conditional''. It was not at all important to that moment.
What was important was really seeing what was being taught. Yes, there was teaching here as there is everywhere.
When the mother duck went close to the shore and nibbled at what was growing there, so did the duckling, without a moments hesitation. No question asked. When a large labrador came close to the edge of the pond with his proding nose and outstretched tongue, she moved quickly away and the duckling followed in her wake. I watched for a long time as every move she made was mimicked by her offspring. No questions asked. Even when she dunked her head and wiggled her tail, in what seemed to be delight in the new, warm summer morning---so, too, did the little duckling, who had to shake his whole body just to get his tail to move. His head went under for a moment and came up sputtering a bit. But he was learning, in noble silence. Then, as the shade retreated from the pond, the mother duck pulled herself up onto the shore. The embankment was no small matter. And to my surprise, without any effort and without the slightest *cheep*, the duckling somehow was on the shore, next to his mother, having learned exactly what he needed. Both pressed themselves close to each other and fell into a short morning nap.
As I walked away, I thought about how often I haven't been silent and how I should just watch those around me, to learn the best I can by seeing, without confusing it with too many questions and answers, the *cheep* *cheep* *cheep* that can fill the air, making it more difficult to stay afloat or get back on shore. Sometimes it's good to be the lone duckling!
