He stepped back and breathed more slowly, and what he saw, lit by warning washes of honey and gold, was a respite in stillness from the unacknowledged acts of women to hallow home. That stillness today, he thought, might be all he would ever know of the Realm of Heaven.
A small seed sowed in the field. I am back to the part of darkness in my prayer. As the seed opens in the ground, so the soul opens in the ground, in the dark. Over the last decade, with each faltering step I took into this darkness, my prayer — a prayer of no words — found deeper roots. This way of prayer is the dark way of silence. This way takes leave of discourse, of the mind, and turns to the heart, the dwelling place of God.