Narrow is the boundary
of "now" and "not-yet"
Deep and dark it stretches
like an ancient passageway
no map has ever marked.
One by one we walk it
step by solitary step.
Not hand in hand,
Not side by side,
But sounding the distance with our tears.
Hope is the chorus sounding, "Come!"
Hope is the embrace, waiting to welcome.
Hope is the companion,
In-Between . . .
Inwardness and true quietness appear to be but two aspects of the same thing -- of a "truly centered" life. In the innermost religion of life there is a perpetual calm; perturbations and excitements belong to the comparatively superficial part of our own nature. In cleaving to the Center we cannot but be still; to be inwardly still is to be aware of the Center.