I surround myself with silence. The silence is within me, permeates my house, reaches beyond the surfaces of the outer walls and into the bordering woods. It is one silence, continuous from within me, outward in all directions: above, beneath, forward, rearward, sideward. In the silence I listen, I watch, I sense, I attend, I observe. I require this silence. I search it out. The finely drawn treble song of a white-throated sparrow is part of it. Invasions of it by the noise of engines are a torment to me. This is my solitude.
Peace is love resting in order to be renewed. The renewal takes place in the inner silence. In the desert we see things as they are. We are face to face with reality. The silence we observe externally does then become also the inner silence when the miracles of grace take place. Here we are stripped of the outward garments hiding our true selves. Here we can embrace the awfulness of our human condition and the awesomeness of the offered gift of grace. We are in touch at last with our reality.