Three Days of Silent Retreat

Three days of silence? That’s a difficult concept for someone who runs a small business to embrace. But there’s no denying that license to ignore email and phone calls for 72 hours is a tantalizing fantasy.

Letting go of my tech addiction isn’t easy, even for a few days. Like a drunk on the way to rehab, I pull onto the shoulder of the seemingly endless backcountry road northeast of San Francisco to text my daughter, take one last call from a client and set an auto response on email. Other than occasionally checking for urgent text messages regarding a critically ill friend, I’ll be incommunicado for the duration.

Nestled among Napa-adjacent hills on the outskirts of Vacaville, the Silent Stay Retreat Home and Hermitage beckons like a Tuscan villa. It sits on 25 acres of unsullied rolling hills with expansive views of the sprawling valley below and mountainous foothills to the east. Deer, bobcats and coyote roam undisturbed, and thousands of pinpoints of light sparkle in the night sky.

The lovely Mediterranean-style retreat building—with a spacious house at one end inhabited by hosts Ruth and Bruce Davis—has been remodeled with six guest rooms (some with en suite bath) that accommodate nine people. But while I’m here, just one other guest and I tiptoe around each other. It’s tempting to connect—after all, we have much in common—but we both refrain.

I expect the first evening’s half-hour meditation to be guided, but after a few mellifluous words from Bruce, it, too, is silent. Except that I have an accumulation of mucus in my throat that I just can’t ignore, so every few minutes I have to swallow and it sounds ridiculously loud in the silence. Can everyone in the meditation room hear me? I wonder how I’ll get through two meditations a day without embarrassing myself, but decide not to focus on it.

Next morning I awake refreshed after nine full hours of sleep—a rarity for me—and only one horrific dream. Sunrise is lovely but I’m instantly restless thinking of all I “should” be doing that day. Outside my window an unconcerned bobcat trots across the field behind the house. It seems somehow symbolic, telling me to just keep on moving forward.

The one-hour daily morning meditation goes quickly (and is blessedly mucus-free), and I’m grateful to have private time afterward with Ruth. Experienced in these realms, she works with me to “sink into” my heart and discover qualities lurking there, giving me a simple tool that will inform the rest of my stay. Oh, and maybe the rest of my life.

So. A whole day of no talking. Nothing to do. As it unfolds, the silence creeps in like a gentle gift, an almost guilty pleasure. Instead of checking email, editing stories and posting payments, I walk the land, swing in a hammock, disappear into my latté and gold bedroom and tuck myself into high-thread-count linens in the middle of the afternoon. I also read an entire book—Eben Alexander’s Proof of Heaven—which prepares me for the unhappy outcome to those urgent medical texts.

For the Davises, who have been operating the nonprofit retreat center since 2012, this is the near-idyllic life they’ve created, modeled on a retreat they ran in Italy for 12 years prior. Unlike many retreats, for this one you bring and prepare your own food—whatever you like, even wine if you’re so inclined. You’ll have space in the fridge and a dry goods cubby. There’s an amply stocked larder of staples in a modern kitchen, and an inviting electric fireplace fairly begs you to sit for a cup of tea. The house is quite comfortable and easy on the eyes, and a bookshelf offers inspiring reading material.

By my day of departure, I’m feeling safe, calm and for me, quite still. My meditations are deeply moving and I’m wanting to stay longer—10 days would be ideal. But three is good, too, and easier for many of us.

If you can take the time, go. The Davises will work with you if you’re financially challenged, and the solitude and Bruce’s calming voice are exquisite balm to a city soul.

—3570 Cantelow Rd, Vacaville, CA 95688, 707.474.4833, www.silentstay.com