Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Deep Things

There are no words for the deepest things. Words become feeble when mystery visits and prayer moves into silence. In post-modern culture the ceaseless din of chatter has killed our acquaintance with silence. Consequently, we are stressed and anxious. Silence is a fascinating presence. Silence is shy; it is patient and never draws attention to itself. Without the presence of silence, no word could ever be said or heard. Our thoughts constantly call up new words. We become so taken with words that we barely notice the silence, but the silence is always there. The best words are born in the fecund silence that minds the mystery.
                                                                                      John O'Donohue

in that moment
between darkness and dawn
when the sun merely hints at its presence

there is a profundity
one is assailed by the silence
and finds relief in the owls
who suddenly decide
to sing a love song

in that moment you can hear yourself breathe
hear the crunch of your feet on the earth
feel your heart beat

feel your feelings
and experience the roar of your brain
as it fills the silence with people

and hear the roar subside,as you
take a deep breath
and feel the coolness of the fall
flow through you

and let everything go
except that one sliver of light
that one clarion call
that one feeling

of love
and let the face of your beloved


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