Tuesday, January 24, 2012
At the Basilica Of St.Francis in Assisi, there is a priest whose duty appears to be one thing.Every few minutes, as the din from the voices of many tourists becomes annoying, he says,"Silencio".Poor man with a hopeless task.Not hard to know what he is requesting.I have to say that I appreciated his efforts because I didn't travel thousands of miles to talk but to soak in the sacredness and it was difficult with the noise.Talking to and hearing from the Spirit,for me ,requires some quiet.
Ans so again,with snake proof boots on and an extraordinarily blue sky above,I went to the river.I wrote:
..."the log holds a writer who comes as a witness to silence.Just water,trees and bird trills.Nothing else is here but an emptiness that feeds me.The sun wraps its rays around my face and hands and glistens on the brown water.
This is the solitude that poets and saints yearn for.Only the birds are busily present.A Barred Owl and something else explode in sound across the river.This must have aroused the cows to complain but only for a minute and all is still again.
If God is in silence then just listen to this.....
There is one lone Beech that refuses to drop its leaves and they stand out in tan/beige among all the other bare trees.A very strange green bush is growing out there in the water from a dead log. Floating by, heading South,a brown leaf turned sideways.Alone,drifting.
The area on my side of the river used to be a farmland.There are still places where rusted barbed wire is strung between the pines to keep in long gone cattle.Those farmers and cows are gone and one day this log will no longer have a writer to perch."Just an old sweet song....."