True Silence

Silence,

true silence

Is not just about the absence of sound.

That, in fact, is hard,

If not impossible

To attain.

It is about the silence of the heart,

A laying to rest,

Of self absorption

And justification —

Of malice

And hubris —

Of the constant chatter

We suppose is grand,

Framing our claims

To virtue,

Independence,

Superiority,

And control.

It is a silence

That listens

For The Voice

Above all other voices —

A voice not of our own making

Or even of our best selves —

That speaks

Of purposes

And dimensions

That lay in Eden’s cradle,

Making claims on us

That cannot be captured

By schemes

Or designs

Born of our impoverished imagination

It is a silence

Filled with love,

But fierce

In its demands —

Heard only with time

And attention,

Born of humility

And the passion to hear.