In the point of rest at the center of our being, we encounter a world where all things are at rest in the same way. Then a tree becomes a mystery, a cloud a revelation, each person a cosmos of whose riches we can only catch glimpses. The life of simplicity is simple, but it opens to us a book in which we never get beyond the first syllable.
'Tis not in seeking,
'Tis not in endless striving
Thy quest is found.
Be still and listen.
Be still, and rink the silence
Of all around.
Not for the crying,
Nor for Thy loud beseeching
Will peace draw near.
Rest, with palms folded,
Rest with thine eyelids fallen --
Lo, peace is here.