This is called the Temple of Silence, the Place of Power; for when we reach the place of silence in mind, we have reached the place of power -- the place where all is one, the one power -- God... Only as we turn from the without to the silence of the within can we hope to make conscious union with God... God does not speak so much in the fire, the earthquake, or the great wind, as in the still, small voice -- the still, small voice deep in our own souls.
~ from LIFE AND TEACHING OF THE MASTERS OF THE EAST by Baird T. Spalding
I know the thrill of the grasses when the rain pours over them. I know the trembling of the leaves when the winds sweep through them. I know what the white clover felt as it held a drop of dew pressed close in its beauteousness. I know the quivering of the fragrant petals at the touch of the pollen-legged bees. I know what the stream said to the dipping willows, and what the moon said to the sweet lavender. I know what the stars said when they came stealthily down and crept fondly into the tops of the trees.
