We sat in silence for some time. It is a very, very difficult thing to do -- to sit in silence. Our world is filled with sounds, and we've come to feel that we must fill any void we encounter with our voices, or the radio, or the TV; almost anything will do, as long as we're not burdened by deafening silence. But there is a special beauty, I was coming to see, a special peace in quiet that is beyond words or the trappings of this world. But, oh, it is so difficult not to speak!
A stillness descended upon the room, and in the heart of that stillness was something beyond the power of mere language to describe. I felt we were being given a glimpse of the underlying unity of all things, and that this harmony -- though no metaphor was adequate to describe that singing silence -- was enfolding us so that we were wholly in tune not only with one another, but with a healing presence at the very centre of our being.
The moment passed, but I thought of the disciples on the road to Emmaus and how they had recognized the stranger in the breaking of the bread.