An early century desert monk once shared an image:
"When the door of the steam bath is continually left open, the heat inside rapidly escapes through it; likewise the soul, in its desire to say many things, dissipates its remembrance of God through the door of speech, even though everything it says is good ..."
Timely silence, then, is precious, for it is nothing less than the mother of the wisest thoughts.
Is itpossible to prepare for our death with the same attentiveness that our parents had in preparing for our birth?
Can we wait for our death as for a friend who wants to welcome us home?