Let me seek, then, the gift of silence, and poverty, and solitude, where everything I touch is turned into a prayer: where the sky is my prayer, the birds are my prayer, the wind in the trees is my prayer, for God is all in all.
A small seed sowed in the field. I am back to the part of darkness in my prayer. As the seed opens in the ground, so the soul opens in the ground, in the dark. Over the last decade, with each faltering step I took into this darkness, my prayer — a prayer of no words — found deeper roots. This way of prayer is the dark way of silence. This way takes leave of discourse, of the mind, and turns to the heart, the dwelling place of God.