Note: I asked to radiate Divine Light and Divine Love through Soul Writing. Each line came to me one at a time and resulted in this below:
It was a quiet day, the kind where even the chirping of birds seemed muted somehow. The roads were empty and the air was still. Where had the life gone? A ghost town, that's what it felt like. The tiniest bit of movement was a revelation.
If I had to do it over again, I would have paid more attention. I would have noticed the wind's movement against my skin. I would have stopped and listened to its message. When the listening stops, the receiving, all draw of the wind ceases. There is no pull on it. I would not let the wind become still. I would listen and open.
Is there a way to open again? I wonder.
The silence seems oppressive. It's a kind of loud silence. It almost seems to echo. Maybe it also has a message. Maybe I am not left alone after all. Perhaps my remaining companion is the silence.
How do I listen to silence? How do the ears pick up sound when none exists? But that is my assumption. Surely there must be a way to hear the silence.
A thought occurs to me and I make a decision. I decide that silence is not a form of absence, but contains a new language. It's sort of like the space between the shapes that also has its own shape, depending on how you look at it. I move my attention to the absence of shapes - to the shape of the absence.
There my attention reveals a flow, a movement I had not seen before. It's a flow that caresses the shapes, strokes them and brings tingles to their skin. Brings them life. It upholds the shapes so that they do not fall apart. The silence is like glue holding the tapestry of objects in place.
I am upheld by this silence. It is my faithful companion. It sings to me of its love. It is intimately aware of every part of me, holding me tenderly – cushioning me against life's jarring so that I do not break.
Gratitude wells up. How did I miss you, my beloved friend? I feel you like the buoyancy of the ocean in gentle swells. You were there all along. You've created a safe haven for me. Your gifts are many.
I stretch out my hand and touch you. Am I touching nothing? No, you are there. You give me a place to put my hand. You enfold each finger. You feel my touch. I sigh a deep sigh of contentment. The air of my breath flows sweetly into the silence.
The silence takes in my breath and responds. As the air moves around me, delight fills my heart. This movement of the air is the voice of silence – its language. I can breath in silence and feel its message. I can breathe out and speak back.
A giving and receiving.
Ah, the ghost town became so because the giving stopped, because I refused to give. Now I know how to bring the place back to life.
I go along the roads breathing out. I send my love on the wings of my breath. I breath in, listening.
It is an invitation hard to resist. Things stir. Normal activities of the day come into view, people moving with purpose, brought to life again. They respond to the love which I freely give.
A wind blows through the trees around me and I hear the joyous song of silence.
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