So much waits to be born in
The silent pauses out of which
A breathless audience, anticipates
The first note as the conductor,
Posed with raised baton,
Gathers the orchestra.
Dancers in the wings
Stand hushed, ready to
Fill the stage with movement.
Artists ponder before blank canvases.
Gardeners gaze upon
Resting landscapes, white, frozen,
Soundless, waiting, open.
The greatest gifts emerge
Words springing forth
from quiet hearts, more easily
speak of love.
We forget the
noiseless background from which
All creativity emerges, all being
Manifests. Let us seek the quiet
In order to belong to ourselves.
Our true home is in the pauses.
Our name is revealed.