Suppose one undertook the discipline of speaking only what one knew was given to speak? How quiet our homes, our churches and work places would be. Our society plays very loose with words, with talk; yet there is little silence, and silence is where meaning comes from.
it has something to do
with sitting on the roof
and watching what's left
of the lunar eclipse while
crickets sing silence
into ecstatic buzz
and joy spills into my cells
till the idea of self washes away.
Or, when I'm shucked by loss.
The self in tatters. Raw.
Naked. Unable to know.
Utterly flayed. Then.
That's when I pray.