Listen to the LORD’s voice speaking in your soul, in
the silence of your soul. His silent
WORD, His NAME (YHWH) speaks at the heart of all sound; from His Spirit all
voice is born.
And no tongue, no noise of man, can disturb its
purity, its light. It breathes. It lives.
He speaks-- bringing life. And
there is peace. (Not even death can
overcome Him.)
Though borne under a cross of pain, here is but
love, here wisdom shines – in silence, without a word. And in it we find strength; all questions
flee. For nothing touches the awe of
His Presence. Nothing speaks more
fearfully than the silence of God.
Listen, if you will, and hear His voice, wherever
you are.
I Am--
...a mystical poet and
philosopher, living, as it were
the life of a monk, whose purpose is to serve as the hub
of the wheel, the still point upon which the world turns,
hidden and secret, and yet without which the wheel would
spin out of place.
The life of the monk is the
life of prayer. Prayer,
the work of the spirit, is that which sustains life. It
is the air we breathe. And though it is
invisible, though
it cannot be grasped by the hand of man, it serves as life's
very essence.
And the word is the tool of
prayer, the tool of the monk,
the poet, the mystic philosopher. And
the word is of God,
who is the Word, the Spirit, the source of all life, and all
words. With the word the poet speaks,
and forms the heart
of the universe, the central axis upon which the world spins.
So, though often overlooked
and, when viewed, seen
as insignificant, if not worthless, the function of the monk
is indispensable; it is absolutely integral to the continuation
of life, to existence itself.
6/23(d)
And at my sister’s grave,
the flowers of the miniature rose bush
–
which blooms but once a year
are dead now:
only empty buds remaining.
But there are a few petals, too,
and their pinkish color is reflected wonderfully
in the orange-spotted, soaken marble
of her headstone.
Could anything be more radiant?
Yes, there is a
silence in the city
9/11(a)
Standing on the grass
in a park across the river
from a mile-wide cloud of smoke
(three hours earlier two hundred-story buildings
were razed in terrorist plane attacks),
I imagine myself in the shoes of the thousands dead
and pray –
and still
silence in the city