The sun tries to come out. It is a true November morning--cold and grey, with hints of blue and white light in the sky, a haze over the hills and trees, the ground covered with wet leaves, the trees dead and barren except for the pines. ... I sit content, held in peace as if God is embracing me. The silence is magnificent and healing. I become a part of it--silent, calm, at peace. My soul is quieted.
Ibn Hasdai writing in the 13th century said: "[Man] was given two ears and one tongue, so that he may listen more than speak." It is a privilege just to listen. And there is a fine distinction between "listen to" and "to listen." When we "listen to" we are actively engaging our senses of sound for a particular audible cue. But, when we choose "to listen," we are opening ourselves up to the sounds of silence and solitude; to ways and words unanticipated, unscripted and often—unfamiliar. We do not choose these words; they choose us.