And now above and beyond the birds' song, Andy hears a more distant singing, whether of voices or instruments, sounds or words, he cannot tell. It is at first faint, and then stronger, filling the sky and touching the ground, and the birds answer it. He understands presently that he is hearing the light; he is hearing the sun, which now has risen, though from the valley it is not yet visible. The light's music resounds and shines in the air and over the countryside, drawing everything into the infinite, sensed but mysterious pattern of its harmony. From every tree and leaf, grass blade, stone, bird, and beast, it is answered and again answers. The creatures sing back their names. But more than their names. They sing their being. The world sings. The sky sings back. It is one song, the song of the many members of one love, the whole song sung and to be sung, resounding, in each of its moments. And it is light.
The Word must be heard in the silence of the heart, the place in which it can be welcomed and given space so that it may become creative. From earliest times the advice given to those who wanted to learn the monastic way was always "to return to your own heart." This is the interior space for which there are so many different concepts: the inner cloister, the poustinia, the cave of the heart. It is simply "the place of God in us" which each of us will understand in a unique and mysterious way.