In a cave, all outer sounds are smothered by rock and earth, but this makes the sounds of one's own heartbeat and breath audible. In the same way, contemplative stillness turns us away from everyday clamor but allows us to hear the subtle in our own lives. When listening not with the ear but with the spirit, one can perceive the subtle sound. By entering into that sound, we enter into supreme purity. That is why so many religious traditions pray, sing, or chant as a prelude to silence. They understand that the repetition and absorption of sound leads to sacredness itself. The deepest sound is silence. This may seem paradoxical only if we regard silence as an absence of life and its opposites. It is both sound and soundlessness, and it is in this confluence that the power of meditation emerges.
Simple prayer is above all a response to God -- a response, not an initiative. Prayer is concerned not so much with me as with God. We are invited to surrender to God even when our instincts rebel. The essential act of prayer is to stand unprotected, vulnerable, before God. That God should take possession of us is the purpose of life. We know that we belong to God; we know, too, if we are honest, that almost despite ourselves, we keep a tight grip on our own autonomy. To truly belong to God means having nothing left for ourselves, to be bound to the will of Another. If you desire to stand surrendered before God, then you are standing there; it needs absolutely nothing else. Whether you are aware of God's presence or not does not matter. Know that God is in you and with you -- now and forever.