A moment of confession...

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..in that bethel of sound

I aroused my dark thoughts into silent invocation.

A small utterance of protest,

Against the darkening pall of wasteful words.

A thrown mass that held a storm

in its gravid deliverance.

The moist air heavy,  

abounding with consequence.

I held my breath,

and dove beneath the weight of sound,

to enter a deep sea of silence.

What do you have to say?

Will it improve on silence?

I have realised of late, that I use chatter like a bridge between meaningful conversation. To all of you that know me well, I can hear you having a chortle-"Well, um yeah, the girl loves a chat." It's true.

Ever since I was a child, I've talked too much. Every teacher said it, some debating whether or not I have anything worth banging on about. I use words to connect, to soothe, to scold, to lift, to lighten, to laugh, to protest, to ponder and to question.

Some days I never stop with the endless drudge of bloody words until I fall exhausted into bed, heaving big old sighs of wiped-out-sick-of-the-sound-of-my-own-voice.

Lately I've become more aware of the sheer volume of waste that pours forth from my muzzle. Just loose cannon blah-blah stuff that interrupts the quiet, it's made me question-

"Do I have anything to say that will improve on silence?"

I've begun to daydream about transforming into the strong silent type. Or at the very least, just the sometimes quiet one.

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The truth is I love silence. The three am quiet that descends on the house. Hallways filled with soft breathing and stillness, a dog far-off. All is far away in that moment. Putting on my coat and stepping outside, black trees against an indigo sky, the gentle light of the moon, the grass seems laid out smooth.

In this soft, languid quiet it's hard to fathom anything other than a peaceful world.

I am reminded of my time as a painter. It took me many years to arrive at a balance point in my work. It's experience and a good dose of confidence that prompts you to leave space in a painting. A place to rest- it's like visual silence.

Why not apply the same principal to speech? "Will it improve on silence?" Or music, television, media. So much noise and distraction and entertainment. We have arrived at some strange place of fear- that silence might hold some uncomfortable truth at it's centre.

But what if all that it held was a profound state of peaceful awareness? Nothing more or less than that. I'm so desperate for a little space to rest...

Quiet.

Grace

8a80a-img_1221 The wind blew your name across the wild grasses

the spiny call of the egret left

the air, out there

wheaten

hung over the idols of my youth.

Seed against cerulean sky

blown

promises suspended

caught for a moment

in a current of uncertainty

to fall at my bound feet.

I have walked

towards that sound,

made up ground,

in skins and ceremony.

I have carried a village

that spoke not a word of

worship

nor ever wrote

a sanguine wish

for peace.

In my memories,

we were sundered by the sea.

A glassy swathe

of welcome water.

Grace that brought

a flood to feed the earth

and flow between us.

I felt you near

still

in time.

My prayer for peace.....

IMG_1612 copyAre you tender to the ways of the world? Does the news leave you saddened and feeling like it's all gone to hell in a handbag? Me too. Which is why I haven't  posted anything in a while. I've been enjoying a media fast. A whole week of no television news, no radio, no Facebook (and no blogging). Just a little rest, a moment to inhale deeply and be at peace. What a lovely gift to a girl like me who feels the worries of the world in my heart.

I enjoyed my little optimistic interlude. I felt much more at peace and centred. Then yesterday I turned on the news....

(I have no words)

No breath even.

All we can do is pray. I'm not even sure who I'm praying to? I don't think it matters. As long as our prayers fill the air out there. 

Take the heavy from

your shoulders,

Throw your grievances, 

to the ground.

The war ended yesterday.

It’s over.

Today there is no battle,

no harm to your home,

Your family are safe.

Remember?

(May you walk in sunshine,

breathe long,

Might the smell of your mama

remind you?)

Bury your weapons,

Let the Earth keep them cold.

Burn your boots

and open your heart.

The children,

missed their fathers,

and laid their hope,

in your bloody hands.

(May fear leave your fists.

Might your palms find prayer.)

Exhale.