The phoebe sits on her nest Hour after hour, Day after day, Waiting for life to burst out From under her warmth. Can I weave a nest of silence, weave it of listening, listening, listening, Layer upon layer? But one must first become small, Nothing but a presence, Attentive as a nesting bird, Proffering no slightest wish Toward anything that might happen or be given, Only the warm, faithful waiting, contained in one’s smallness. Beyond the question, the silence. Before the answer, the silence.
If I set my heart upon another person, then I cannot live without that person. My heart becomes divided. If I give my heart to my life, on the other hand, if I give my heart to the journey with God, then my heart can be whole in a relationship with another. I can be heart and soul in the relationship because I am heart and soul in the journey of my life.
