I'm out of ideas. I don't have any snide witticisms, clever twists of a phrase or even a "funny thing that happened on the way to the synagogue this morning."

I'm a somewhat frequent contributor to this site's News Blog. So what am I supposed to do when the editor sends me an email asking why I haven't written anything for the blog lately?

Dutifully I scour the news sites (I actually spent 45 seconds perusing them, but I don't want people to think I'm not trying), looking for an interesting story. I'm trying to spin the latest political events or market news, but come up empty; no story seems compelling.

Everyone is so busy writing about something, they haven't tackled nothingAnd so I sit staring at my screen, racking my brain for something – anything! – worth writing about. Then a great idea hit me, a perfect segue from the abstract to the meaningful, that starting point every writer needs to get the creative juices flowing—I had it! Then the doorbell rang and my brother called and I forgot what it was that I was all keyed up about. I finally remembered it, yet in the calm light of reflection it seemed rather trite.

So I have decided to write about not having original thoughts or ideas. I was surprised how little can be found about "having nothing to write about." With all the nonsense the internet spawns, I assumed there would be pages of essays about "nothing," yet I found "nothing about nothing"; everyone is so busy writing about something, they haven't tackled nothing yet.

Then I remembered something (is that contributory to my point about nothing or contrary to it?). The fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Shalom DovBer, penned a booklet that explains how to create superior prayer experiences: Kuntres HaTefilah ("The Booklet on Prayer").

The Rebbe Rashab (as he is commonly known) writes of the virtue of contemplation, the soaring heights achieved through the mind's capacity to meditate on G‑d's infinite greatness. And then the Rebbe writes of an even greater experience, one that he terms: "Gazing at the glory of G‑d."

As a yeshivah student I witnessed elder chassidim spending hours and hours in prayer. They began early Shabbat morning and would only conclude while the rest of us were turning the pillow over to the cooler side to continue our Shabbat nap. I snuck a glance at some of these pious men and saw them sitting rather still, looking relaxed. I wondered what they could be thinking about for so many hours; how could someone sustain that degree of concentration till 3 or 4 in the afternoon? I was surprised, almost disappointed, by the absence of any theatrics as they sat wrapped in their tallit (prayer shawl), humming, sometimes swaying, yet mostly motionless and quiet.

I look back at that vision and I think they were "gazing"; they were simply being in the moment of their personal relationship with G‑d. They were experiencing that which the Rebbe Rashab described; they were connecting with G‑d in a manner far beyond study or analysis. They were doing nothing; they were simply being.

These were hours dedicated to "nothing"; the simple act of being with G‑dChassidic teaching lauds study as the entry point into one's relationship with G‑d. I am after all a Chabad chassid—"Chabad" being an acronym for chochmah, binah and da'at, the three stages of intellectual development. The Rebbe Rashab is in fact called the "Maimonides of Chassidic Teachings" due to the vast quantity and organization of his chassidic instruction. Yet ultimately brilliance can be a handicap, we can become straitjacketed by what we know. Those great chassidim I witnessed were gifted scholars, yet I sense that for those many hours they were way beyond scholarship. More than merely "praying," they receded into G‑d, transcended themselves and reached a space wherein they were "lost within their Creator." No wonder they didn't want to leave that space.

These were hours dedicated to "nothing"; the simple act of being with G‑d, without trying to figure it out.

Children need that from their parents as well. Beyond teaching them to practice the aleph bet and how to ride a bike, children need "nothing time"; simply to be gazed at, to be "in the moment." Spouses need it too, to be appreciated simply for who they are, beyond what they do.

Your son or daughter may be impressed by your wit, you may be proud that your spouse is so smart, yet children, spouses and G‑d crave your presence more than your genius.

I'm no longer frightened by having nothing to say—I've enwrapped myself in it. I don't want to quit.