for a brief moment early spring rain ceases,
the sun breaks through
grey sky...
threads of gold
thin enough to pierce the forest,
glitter on dewdrops...
bows to brilliance,
where everything arrogant
takes off its shoes
to stand on holy ground.
Silence is the matrix from which word is born, the home to which word returns through understanding. Word (in contrast to chatter) does not break the silence.
In a genuine word, silence comes to word. In genuine understanding, word comes home into silence. For those who know only the world of words, silence is mere emptiness. But our silent heart knows the paradox: the emptiness of silence is inexhaustibly rich; all the words in the world are merely a trickle of its fullness.