Silence
Silence, at last.
The ticking of the clock is so loud in the quiet.
Silence is thick, invasive, but yet freeing somehow.
Thoughts become animated, insistent, pressing.
A jumble thrown into the air, fluttering in slow motion downward into my hands.
I pick up each in my mind and turn it over to examine closer. Does it have texture? What emotions are attached? Is it important? Do I need it?
In the clarity of silence, without emotion, thoughts are examined, judged, placed in order, assigned action or even discarded.
In the center, in the calm of inner self, I commune with the Spirit. His words fill my every cell with life, with breath, with purpose.
He says, "I am with you."
And with an exhalation, silence.
The ticking of the clock is so loud in the quiet.
Silence is thick, invasive, but yet freeing somehow.
Thoughts become animated, insistent, pressing.
A jumble thrown into the air, fluttering in slow motion downward into my hands.
I pick up each in my mind and turn it over to examine closer. Does it have texture? What emotions are attached? Is it important? Do I need it?
In the clarity of silence, without emotion, thoughts are examined, judged, placed in order, assigned action or even discarded.
In the center, in the calm of inner self, I commune with the Spirit. His words fill my every cell with life, with breath, with purpose.
He says, "I am with you."
And with an exhalation, silence.
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