The sound of silence

Blessed silence. I am wrapped by you, feel your claim on my soul simultaneously pull me nigh and push me away into the deepest heart of life. I feel the suck and throw of your love, the expansion of your freedom and the blast of your greatness.

Blessed silence. You ask nothing of me other than to be. To be still and see and think and hear only the clear and beautiful birdsong, the clang of my own thoughts, the loveliness of a roaring red sunset.

Blessed silence. I walk in the stillness of God and wonder at His great silent creation, the crashing waves of the ocean on the shore, the hardy pohutakawas breaking unforgiving winds as they cross the boundary between land and sea.

Blessed silence. You wrap yourself protectively around me, cuddle my soul and I weep and beg for not words, but space. I look up into your vast visage, searching for the intimacy of silent communion.

Blessed silence. Tug my edges and pull them bigger, stretch for the sky, unbind the words that keep me small, bow my head in reverence, as I raise my arms in worship for what is greater than I can comprehend.

Blessed silence. In the small moments of nothing I creep into the cracks of no-sound, gaze into the countenance of God, and know the Still Small Voice of God.

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