To live a contemplative life is to be open enough to see, free enough to hear, real enough to respond. It is a life, and so it has its own rhythms of darkness, of dying-rising. Simply enough, it is a live of grateful receptivity, or wordless awe, of silent simplicity.
Dear friend, do you not see
That whatever we look upon here
Is but reflection, merely a shadow,
Of what is invisible to our earthly eyes?
Dear friend, do you not know
That the jarring noises of the world
Are but an echo distorted
Of triumphant harmonies?
Dear friend, do you not sense
That in all the world is only
What one heart says to another
In silent greeting?