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.
It is the most supremely interesting moment in life, the only one in fact when living seems life, and
I count in the greatest good fortune to have these few months so full of interest and instruction in
the knowledge of my approaching death. It is as simple as one's own person as any fact of nature,
the fall of a leaf or the blooming of a rose, and I have a delicious consciousness, ever present, of
wide spaces close at hand, and whisperings of release in the air.