Now the old has already passed away<
But the new is too new to be born today
So I'm throwing out seeds on the winter snow<
As the cold wind begins to blow
Standing here on a new threshold
I can see a warm dim light in the window...
I pass from mystery to mystery, so I won't lie
I don't know what happens when people die
but I hope that I see you...
In the distance I see a glow
There's a light, there's a light, there's light
In the window.
I am to LISTEN. I am finding it a hard discipline: Listen to every word that is not said. Listen for silences. I have become insensitive to the power of words because I hear and see too many of them. I don't say to myself, "don't listen to words." I am already a past-master of that. I say, "listen to the silence." And I discover this: because silence seems empty of content I cannot place myself in relation to it, and therefore, I cannot place myself outside it. It is a world I enter, not a world I observe. Silent people bear this out: they seem to carry a world with them, while the unsilent always seem to be scurrying in search of one.
~ from TAKE NOTHING FOR THE JOURNEY by Donagh O'Shea
