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Posts Tagged ‘silence’

Hallelujah


 
 
after singing in the stadium
with fifty thousand other voices
emerging into the night
to find my own ecstatic
silence

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The Waking

When I wake, it’s your silence
beside me that invites me
to wake into my own silence,
and I begin the day with listening.
By heart I know the difference
between the quiet of your sleep
and the quiet of you dreaming.
and it is by tuning to the gentle
hinge of your breath that I
relearn my place in the world.
Even before my eyes are open
I greet the dawn-drenched day,
not with an alarm but through a doorway
of trust. How quietly opening happens.

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I woke in the cave of my heart,
a slim shadow nested inside
an unbounded shadow,
and there, after decades of chatter
and prattle, I found you, silence.
Or more truly, after my clanging
and crying, my praising and soothing,
silence found me.
Quiet comforter.
Place of no promises.
Infinite cradle. Infinite womb.
An endless invitation to wake
forever.
I woke in the cave of my heart
being tuned to join a song I knew
but had never been taught,
a song ringing inside every cell.
Whatever I’d thought
was my own voice was one silken thread
in a warp made of silence,
a weft made of song.
I met there all the beauty I could bear.
Is it here even now as I sit in my room
with the low hum of lights
and the long list of things to do?
I close my eyes,
empty my pockets of certainty,
listen for what is real.
 

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Between Calls


 
 
I walk out the door and
lie on the ground and
let the earth hold me,
let the sun soak me
let breath do
what breath does.
And if there is any
part of me that doesn’t know
it is part of everything,
it is lost in the vast peace
that fills me when
everything warms
and the kingfisher flies
over my silence
with his clackclackclack
and the air smells of river
and greening grass.
It doesn’t last,
but for this small eternity,
I am what a wind is,
only more, only less.

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Growing Trust




Inside this silence
with its hum of life
and shush of wind
is another silence,
a pure silence
I have never heard
but trust is here—
the foundation
of all sound—
just as I trust that
inside my imperfect
love with its pride
and its pain is another
love—a pure and
generous love.
Sometimes when
the voices of hate
in and around me
are loudest, I feel
my understanding
of what trust is adjust—
the way trees in winter
continually adapt to keep
their vital cells alive,
the way animals deep
in the dark of the ocean
keep evolving
to make their own light.

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harmony opens in me
the doors of forgiveness,
just a sliver—
then it dissolves
the idea of a door

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Two Hushes

as if it’s featherlight,
the great muscle of silence
lifts the weight of the moment
 

with invisible arms
silence plucks me from the noise,
raises me as an offering to the day

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I miss you, I say to the stars,
   The stars are not you,
     but always they seem to listen,
       as if what I have to say is important.
 
I miss you, I say again.
   The stars never talk back.
     Still, I listen for a response.
       When I say I miss you,
 
I mean I’ve barely begun to understand
   what missing you means.
     Though I live it every day.
       Though missing you infuses every breath.
 
Though missing you shapes me—
   especially at night when I’m alone
     and I find myself talking with stars.
       I miss you, I say to the stars.
 
I hear nothing in response.
   I let myself be cradled
     by that nothing.

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I love these fierce and gentle hours 
when the silence between us
blooms between voices
as deeply, as profusely
as the pale pink blossoms
that flourish in pavement cracks.
I did not know how much
I longed for this silence,
Did not know how the silence would honor
each voice the way a frame holds a portrait,
bringing value and beauty to the art inside,
didn’t know how shining it could be
with its infrangible truth,
how silence invites a deepening of self
the way a river deepens and changes the  canyon,
even as the river itself is changed.

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Offer your beauty always without calculation or defense.
            —Rainer Maria Rilke, “Initial,” trans. Mark S. Burrows
 
 
Oh friend, it’s true. These dark hours
can crumple us, can press.
No way to escape their crush.
How merciless it can be,
the fist of grief,
how strong the squeeze,
how difficult to believe
we’ll survive.
 
Today, it is enough
to offer the world
only the simplest song—
the wordless, tuneless
song of beingness.
How beautiful it is,
this offering,
your breath against my cheek.

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