In the midst of the tintinnabulation and hurly-burly I see a silence overflowing with absence of all but Thee and me. I seek an interior place of listening to the divine where even the unspoken, but thought, words of prayer shatter silence.
The seed of prayer is sown in heaven.
It pushes its stem toward the earth
and comes to grow there.
It produces an abundance of fruit.
Then, as it becomes seed once more,
it thruts its way back to heaven.