Silence: Soul Soil

Day 15 – Welcome. It is quiet around here. (To catch up on this 31 Day Series, click the tab at the top of my home page.)

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Silence feeds my soul. I sit in the thick cloud of quiet and breathe in nutritious nothing. Stoke the burning embers of my spirit with more air from quiet spaces. Creativity lives there. Peace and calm attend me. It is as if I am starving for the deafening quiet. Thoughts parade through my mind on their sock footed silent march. Pat pat pat. Like cotton balls sneaking down the stairs. Tumbleweeds blow from the cobwebbed corners of my imagination places.

I am haunted by a holy hush. Muted moments merge into my mind.

And nearly every quiet moment feeds my hunger.

And yet I am filled with a guilty wondering. Why the wiring that is me needs portions of quiet that could feed four families for a fortnight.

Why my margins are so wide, that the world runs in a narrow single lane highway down my life. Is this a guilty pleasure, this seeking silence. Or is it the soul-food required for my survival. No, for my thriving. Creatively, joyfully, abundantly and wonderfully.

Do I choose quiet. Or does quiet choose me. Did I move into the quiet places out of a new sense of hunger and desire. Or did my soul finally settle into itself as a seeker of quiet. A needer of buffers for creating and pondering. For growing and giving

Silence, my soul’s soil. I embrace it. Inhale it. And give thanks for it in my world.

And when the dark clouds of loud and clanging change come, unwelcome in my world, may I have the grace to bend. Extend my hand to the invaders of my muffled space.

And say, this too is for my soul. This season of more noise and less quietude. This season of more chaos and less simplicity. Oh may my heart open the door and let some of the world’s noise in.

Spread my peace, share my peace. Release my peace. To another.

And celebrate that this is where God has made me to be and live, in the abundant place of silence. With prayerful thanks.

May I wait with patience for the return of silence, to come and feed my soul again. 

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The Rookery & Scenes from A Perfectly Imperfect Life

220px-Great_Egret_strikes_for_a_Fish_-_crop The Rookery

At dusk, we remark
That they jockey for a limb
The best perch
Before dark
We invade the quiet
Curious

How do you sleep sitting up
Choose your limb
Preen your feathers
And say good night to the bird
To your left
And the one to your right

We have ruffled their feathers
Who is watching whom
The birds
They  wonder
Who takes off in a boat at night
To bird
Watch

The limb picking
Hunched  birds, silhouette of old men
Mateless, alone
Solitary silhouettes washed in shades of graying
White

We are

Pickers
Of the perfect nest
Needing rest

And solitude
Flocked together

Hunkering down

River, motor cut, we float
Gathered
This night
Stills all that ills

And we float on
Riding the wake
Of a solitary tug

Leaving the rookery

With peels of laughter

Not a bird is bothered
We all flock together

This night lit by precious
Crescent’s light
Slivery, silvery moon

To the solitary bachelors, we say
Goodnight
Two men
And a boat with their wives for
Lives

The night is young
If we are not.

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Friendship is the binocular view we trade for the solitary magnifying glass; a panoramic perspective through the looking glass of love – Shelly Miller

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When life gets lonely, call out the sisterhood. Or gather the troops. Or celebrate friendship. Sequestered away like a monk in a monastery, rapunzelled away in the tower of life, solitude can sting. And one can burrow down in the writing of life and miss the very of living of it. Nose nestled into the pages of the recording device. How nice to take big gulps from the real and the swim into the seas of living.

And months and days, and weeks and fortnights of lots of time alone, writing make one parched for real  life. We  need a splash of technicolored friendship. So I sent an invitation to celebrate friendship. And waves of words saying I want to come washed up on my little island of me, myself and I. There are debaters who like to debate any issue that comes along. And I have heard voices take sides on whether or not it is lonely to living a writing life. I believe and and yes and no and sometimes.

That discussion is for another time and place. For this is simply a looking back with joy on a gathering of friends. FIfty four years can collect friends  like life-lines, along the way. Or did they collect me. Some new, some old.  Strangers and  children. Around the banquet table living life on a rainy day. We gathered. And I am reminded of the shifts that come when we view our lives through a different lens. I, the one fascinated by perspective. Not knowing why perspective fascinates my soul.

We are hungry at the table again. The way He intended. By His very design. He purposed us for fellowship. And calling to mind and memory His gifts, the ones He gave with good pleasure.

This day, I saw joy in sets of eyes and lengths of living, lengths of hair, faces shine back at me. Sun soaked souls, happily wrinkled, we. Laughter echoed through the Bistro. And we feasted on each other and the manna of life and love.

A simple day celebrating friendship, they answered the call to come gather. My life seems like an episode of “Antiques Road Show” on a day like this. Not knowing the value in friendships that stay hidden, dormant for too long. How the value is revealed when brought out and into the open.

I asked when I invited, please bring a line or a word about friendship. And I will gather your words in one poem. Weave together the words you offer into one offering of poetry. That is in the works. As we continue living in the wake of a tidal wave of pressed memories. Pressed deep within my soul.

Thank you friends for loving me in life and on this rainy day. I cherish the minutes marked  this day and the years we have between us. Of living and breathing, mothering and parenting, writing and laughing.

So much more than I can ever say. You make life rich and wonderful.

There was nothing perfect about it. No engraved invitations or place cards and party favors. Perfectly staged and planned events are so fleeting. But it was wholly and wonderfully perfect from my lens. Chairs were shuffled, friends cancelled, three at the last minute. We were wet from the flooded parking lot. But we dripped with joy for an hour or two in the middle of July.

It caused me to pause,  reminded me, necessarily to stop and gather, stop and break bread, stop and celebrate life and all its imperfect perfectness. We shuffled places and shared meals and sent one back to the kitchen. With gracious apologies returned with kindness and it is all so okay. We are all flawed. We are all perfectly imperfect ourselves.

But love prevailed and introductions were made. And we gathered this side of glory. And learned from one another and prayed for the absent ones.

But mostly we laughed. And we loved.

And I was reminded not to wait to celebrate this simply ordinary extraordinary imperfectly perfect life.

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Thank you Shelly, of Redemptions Beauty, for the words you wrote and gifted me on this day which are the inspiration for this post.


Joining Laura at Laura Boggess dot com

(Photo Credit – Wikipedia – Egret)