On this bright still silent November day, we walk through bare thickets toward the lake like a silver mirror; so calm, so glassy, it holds on its wide surface all the patterns of light and air above. Its silence silences us. Its stillness stops us in our tracks. As I bend to touch a stone, I hear a voice say, "Love the earth". I cock my ear and hear the echo, faint yet unmistakable as ocean sounding in a shell. When I try to summon it once more, only my words come. A great and terrible tenderness breaks over me. Each pebble, each shell, is filled with beauty; each, in this moment, articulate, a word spoken, and I imagine beyond the grasp of hearing the great murmuring of creation beneath my feet. I feel these patient stones lie like an eternal sacrifice, offering me the ground of their existence on which to grind and crunch the pathways of my life ... I haven't begun to love the earth. Does it take the awareness of our death to wake us up to life?
In Silence is perfect Rest,
and here the ever-so-faint sound
of the Comforter's voice
rings as notes struck from the crystal glass.
Certainty resides there,
and there alone.
...I bid you come to the Silence,
that the Voice may finally be heard.
Here marks the gentle turning point
in your long Journey.
Herein is the way home rediscovered ...
Come into Silence
let the journey end.