Why do I forget You, abandon You? You who are wholeness, You who are home, always now, always present, giving what every cell in me yearns for-- to collapse into Your warm breath of Life; defenses drop, naked I be, cherished solely for my nakedness, my void, my forgetfulness.
Silence pregnant with all sounds, I come back, prodigal that I am-- bruised, tired, wired, To be undone again by Your embrace.
... there is music even in the beauty,
and the silent note which Cupid strikes,
far sweeter than the sound of an instrument.
For there is music wherever there is a
harmony, order, or proportion: and thus far,
we may maintain the music of the spheres.
