All is quiet. Rain falls, stills, hushes the mind; The sun is slow to break open the day. The morning silence nurtures the heart, sharing a natural rhythm. Wisdom from the garden whispers a language of universal oneness, deepening my relationship with the sacred, with the slow unfolding moments of time, with the extraordinary gifts found in an ordinary day.
I breathe it all in, savoring every fine detail of the understated life. I gaze at the newly placed purple orchid, fierce yet, delicate holding prayer on my nightstand. I drink in the moment when my 9-year old son places his small, soft hand into my own as we walk to his ball game. I listen to my mother’s voice over the phone as we make plans for Easter.
In my writing sanctuary, I relish in Antonio Machado’s poem, pasted with purpose above my desk. I read his delicate, soft spoken words, this beloved Spanish poet full of song. I fall into the sound of silence once more and am fully alive.
The poem reads, “My song never strove for glory, nor to linger in the minds of men; I love worlds of understatement, weightless and delicate as soap bubbles. I like watching them paint themselves with sun and grain, float beneath the blue sky, quiver suddenly and break.”
Peace, joy, sorrow, they live with a fullness in these worlds of understatement.