As a young man just 25 years old, the reality that my father was dying gave me the strength to find silence again. I spent uncounted afternoons by his side talking and listening to pure sound, not noise. He told me to be my own man. He helped me recognize the noise so I could stop listening to it. His dying pushed it away and created a space where silence could bloom and thrive. And in that silence, perhaps for the first time since I was five, I heard the voice of my spirit. It told me what I value. It showed me my weaknesses, illuminated my strengths, and gave me the clarity to decide for myself how I ought to live.
I believe the noise of our world is killing people, stifling spirits, and limiting the potential of humanity ... I believe there is a person inside all of us that needs to be heard.
In the forest was a path which led on, and on as if an access to a deeper realm — a place where peripherals, the eddies at the edge of things, were all forgotten, and I entered a silence of green, became a soundless vortex moving through stillness.
Most indigenous people will tell you that every location, every part of the Earth, has a spirit and is sacred. They would also say that this sacredness can be intuited, and can directly influence our choices. We can all learn from this wisdom.
~ from "Trusting the Web of Life" by David La Chapelle
Days pass and the years vanish and we walk sightless among miracles. O Holy One, fill our eyes with seeing and our minds with knowing. Let there be moments when your Presence, like lightning, illumines the darkness in which we walk. Help us to see, wherever we gaze, that the bush burns, unconsumed. And we, clay touched by Thee, will reach out for holiness and exclaim in wonder, "How filled with awe is this place and we did not know it. "
~ from MY GRANDFATHER'S BLESSINGS by Rachel Naomi Remen
Home is where the heart is not famished, the eye not starved, the Sacred not banished or desecrated. The Sacred cannot be caught in formulas. It cannot be analyzed, not even in terms of ecology, as beauty cannot be caught in the semantics of esthetics. Fingers pointing toward the Transcendent need no vocabulary, for they do not preach. Beyond the dialects of all religions they witness to a religious attitude toward life itself.
~ from FINGERS POINTING TOWARD THE SACRED by Frederick Franck
May the nourishment of the earth be yours. May the clarity of light be yours. May the fluency of the ocean be yours. May the protection of the ancestors be yours. And so may a slow wind work These words around you As an invisible cloak to guard your life.
Suddenly I heard the sound; it was the sacred whispers. The whispers come to me from the land, the sky and the sea, and often they urge me to be still. Above all, the whispers signal change.
… a fire was lit in my heart. My rational doubts and hesitations went up in smoke. My tepid faith, which had become that of the indifferent believer, was rekindled.
I was in front of the flaming bush. I wanted to take off my shoes. It was sacred ground. God was this sacred ground. God was within the entire creation. The entire creation was sacred ground.
~ from CIRCLING TO THE CENTER by Susan M. Tiberghien
