I find myself today caught on advent, arrival, going within, and the sound of the light as it tips toward even more darkness, even as it prepares for its return to light.
I was feeling a bit overwhelmed with my to-do list, when I returned to two Christmas cards, and six poinsettia plants left by the man who designed the landscaping for a section of our yard. I also see that weeds are pulled and plants trimmed. This is a gift I want to sit and honor, as well, as enjoying the notes with the Christmas cards. I pause for lunch and pick up the book Silence by Robert Sardello and hold it in my hand.
I notice. Silence.
This morning, I was working with words, and how they form and what they form. What is sound? How do I feel it, taste, see, smell, and hear? So, now I am with Silence, and the day is quiet. I listen. I don't hear plants growing. They are aglow in the sun, and I have some roses in bloom, and pyracantha berries getting ready for the robins, but even the plants are silent today, as are the kitties. They explored the box the poinsettias came in, and loved the little windows, and now, they, too, pause to rest.
To find yourself in the infinite,
You must distinguish and then unite.
"This quietness, this silence is the highest form of intelligence which is never personal, never yours or mine. Being anonymous, it is whole and immaculate."
"Sit quietly, and listen for a voice that will say, Be more silent."
Here we are with new days, busier than before. Our days were full, and now, this time of year, there is so much more.
May we each dip, like a candle into wax, into silence, as to trust.
Let's keep our wicks strong and well-lit, and let them die down, before we must.