There is no dark like a night
replete with the mystery of death.
There is no truth like a fleeting wind.
There is no lover like a lonely tree.
There is no friend like a blade
of faithful grass.
There is no light like a solitary beam
from the sun.
There is no poem like an evolving earth
and no Poet like the great Grace
of Silence.
I sit for a long time in the absolute silence.All at once, there is barely a perceptible noise, a soft rumble as of thunder.The sound dies without discovery of its nature or source.It returns, seeming to come from all directions at once.At last it emerges from its mystery, grows into a tremulous hum, and solidifies into chanting.The music has no tempo.There is no breathing audible in it.No one voice stands out; it is the fusion of all that produces the effect.Long held notes which at last modulate again and again in the calm rhythm of the heart.I am suspended in the sound.And charged. ... The chanting dies away as gently as it began.Once again there is the unanimous voice of silence.