An individual sitting in an emergency waiting room noticed a man in a wheel chair in considerable pain with his wife by his side. For a half hour the couple never exchanged a word; they just held hands, looking intently at each other. Once or twice the woman patted the man's face. The person watching said the feeling of love was so tangible in the room that she felt she was sharing their silent communion. Their silent love was also joyful and portrayed the fullness of a human relationship. That's what spiritual silence is all about. Love does not necessarily require words. It often requires silence.
Barnaby was what I call "heart smart." While other dogs accompanied me in our intellectual journeys and listened while ideas came in, Barnaby just walked and walked with me, looking at the river or the woods and feeling deep feelings. Rarely have I had a walking companion who could just be silent, not having to make a talking point or a barking commentary. With Barnaby, one barked in silence in which much of a more contemplative nature was communicated -- peace, simplicity, the glory of the natural world, the presence of God.