We greet you in the spirit of silence, as the days grow shorter in the northern hemisphere and the leaves fall from the branches. We will attend to the sanctuary of a still heart next Sunday, and will meet you there, those of you who have some time to let go of the day-to-day for a few minutes or hours.
We offer this poem for your reflection.
MY SECRET IS SILENCE
The waves of mind demand so much of Silence. But She does not talk back does not give answers nor arguments. She is the hidden author of every thought every feeling every moment.
She speaks only one word. And that word is this very existence. No name you give Her touches Her captures Her. No understanding can embrace Her.
Mind throws itself at Silence demanding to be let in. But no mind can enter into Her radiant darkness Her pure and smiling nothingness.
The mind hurls itself into sacred questions. But Silence remains unmoved by the tantrums. She asks only for nothing.
But you won’t give it to Her because it is the last coin in your pocket. And you would rather give her your demands than your sacred and empty hands.