What Sally Quinn, 83, Found While Attending a Silent Retreat: Silence, Clarity and a Love Story

I had accepted this trip out of curiosity, but I was also going through my own trauma. Ben, 20 years my senior, had been diagnosed with dementia several years earlier, and although it was not yet a crisis, I was struggling with sadness. It would be comforting to talk to an unfamiliar, objective person. Besides, I would get to talk!

I checked out my room, which was on the ground floor. It was small but perfect, with a single bed, wall-to-wall carpeting, a nice chair, a built-in desk, three lamps and a picturesque view. There was also a small, serviceable bathroom. Interestingly, the doors did not have locks.

That got me thinking of a love story: Lovers slipping silently in and out of each other’s rooms. It could have been a crime story, too, but for some reason, my mind was not working that way. Right outside my door, attached to the guesthouse, was a lovely small chapel, spare with lots of natural wood, an altar with a crucifix above and the sound of tinkling water from the fountain. I didn’t want to leave. Again, I couldn’t stop thinking about what a romantic and spiritual spot it was.

The dinner bell rang, and I rushed upstairs to join my group and other guests. Gregorian chants emanating from a speaker set the mood. We served ourselves the modest meal and sat at a long, U-shaped table. Nobody spoke. It was very strange. I wasn’t used to not engaging in conversation while I was eating with others. It felt rude to me. I finished my meal quickly, washed my dishes, grabbed an apple and returned to my room.

I was only alone for an hour before I had to leave for evening services. Our group trudged up to the chapel, attached to the monks’ living quarters atop a hill, bearing flashlights and bundled up against the biting wind. We took our seats in the dimly lit space, candles flickering, and the monks appeared in their robes. They chanted and read from scriptures. Many in our group prayed with them, while I spent the time reflecting on what had brought me there.

Optional services were available at all times of the day and night. I went to several every day for the three days and two nights I was there. I loved sitting quietly and meditating. But what I loved most was taking long walks down toward the road, past the outdoor open chapel and the natural cemetery where people are buried unembalmed in shrouds, not coffins, with simple stones from the Shenandoah River bearing their names.

I was enchanted sitting under the trees on the riverbank, listening to the gurgling water as it passed by. There was also something sensuous about it, which is when I began thinking more about the idea for my novel: Two people whose lives are falling apart come to a silent retreat to find solace and clarity, and they also find love.

My mind began spinning as I conjured the characters and their circumstances. I immediately fell in love with a character I’d call Fitz, the tormented and unavailable Archbishop of Dublin. Then there was Sybilla, a brilliant and beautiful writer living in a hellish marriage. I became obsessed with them, which was a good distraction from my own sorrows.

My only problem was how to write about a love affair with no dialogue. It was, after all, a silent retreat.

The next morning, I had my first session with the monk. I cried the whole time, but in the end I felt heard, understood and more sanguine than I had in a long time. I also saw a way to write the book: Fitz and Sybilla could tell their stories to the monk and have a physical relationship with each other without speaking.

Quinn's new novel, "Silent Retreat" (out June 3), is a love story set during a silent retreat much like the one she attended.

Subplot Publishing

The book idea aside, going to Holy Cross Abbey was one of the best things I have ever done. For one thing, it helped me learn how to appreciate silence and seek it out, something I hadn’t really done before. I expected to find it difficult but was astounded by how exhilarating it felt. It may sound strange, but the more time I spent in silence, the less I thought about myself. This was a relief. I decided to make my trip here an annual pilgrimage. Every year I would look forward to the silence and anticipate the sense of peace that came over me when I was there.

At home, I began to pray and meditate, and I still do it regularly. It has helped me be more empathetic to others and their suffering. Most importantly, it helped me get through Ben’s dementia and death by encouraging me to pour my love into taking care of him rather than resenting my situation. I find now that I am more resilient and able to carry on despite the problems that afflict us all, especially as we age. I have radically changed since I started going there.  

This is not to say that silent retreats are for everyone. I’m only saying that they work for me.

Meanwhile, friends who’ve read my new novel seem to like it, especially the men. I finally figured out why. It’s the whole idea of love on a silent retreat. Sex without talking!