It is a quiet day; I am on a weekend silent retreat in the midst of the final residency for my contemplative prayer class. The hours of silence are a gift-a gift of rest, of breath, of prayer, of the awareness of Being.
In the midst of this gift I struggle to say no to the ever-present to-do list which lurks around the edges of my consciousness. NO.
Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an ax to the prison wall.
Walk out like someone
suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you have died.
Your old life was a frantic running
The speechless full moon
comes out now.