Ruminating with Rumi
Silence is the sound I love the most. It makes my heart sing to be in silence. Silence cannot be reached. It comes to me in quietude, full of grace, ready to give and share. I raise my lips to its loving kiss, sip its sweet dew, and let it feed me honey drops as it warmly caresses my brow. As I lean into its breast, not moving, I receive and know.
I like to sit in the still, sweet silence and listen to the candle flicker. I can hear its rhythmic swaying as it flutters its harmonies into the night. “You be the spirit,” I say to it. “I will be your awareness. Your gift is given and received.”
I cannot think about silence too much. Words are dry dust in the wind. They clutter the space of revelation. “Sweep out the dust,” comes the cry. “Clear the space to receive. Hear the harmonies of revelation floating in the air.” Words weigh down the harmonies, leaving revelation covered in the dust of the world. “Do not say,” comes the voice. “It cannot be said.” I lay my head in my hands and sit inside the glow of the flame. The light around me reveals the way. It does not say. It knows.