As one progresses on the path, one seeks silence more and more. It will be a great comfort, a tremendous source of solace and peace . . . Here finally is the place where you need neither defense nor offense -- the place where you can truly be open. There will be bliss, wonder, the awe of attaining something pure and sacred . . . This is the peace that seems to elude so many.
I sing of hemlocks whispering mysteries,
Of meadows green with promise,
Of lakes with secrets,
Of mountain peaks in touch with eternity,
Of solitude filled with murmurings we can never quite hear,
Of presences that hover just beyond the edge of perception,
Of meanings etched in snow, transcribed with wings;
I sing the truth
Of hidden things.