An inner city priest went to the home of a poor old lady in the parish. She was dying. When the priest came to her side, she said, "Don't talk and don't run." She seemed to want to die fully appreciative of her life in God, which was too deep for any consoling words at that point. And she wanted to die appreciative of the human community that incarnates God's presence on this plane of existence, which was too deep for words but not for silent, prayerful human presence. That is contemplative dying.
...We can approach all of the myriad little ego deaths, all the ways we don't get what we want (as opposed to what we need) in our lives, in the same way as that woman faced physical death... We need to leave room for the silence that can free the wonder, as well as for words.
Beside a river, in a spell Of utter silence, there am I. Alone I sit within a cell: The midnight hours are passing by ... I gaze into the distance, staying Focused on night's formlessness; The heart is begging to be praying -- In holy calm, how effortless! All problems seem so far from me; The world seem foreign and unreal. Up in the heavens, You I see; Within my heart, deep peace I feel.
