In the middle of my morning devotion and meditation time, I encountered a silence that I’ve allowed to escape. Suddenly, it was back. Impressed by and immersed in it, I decided to journal it while still in its gentle grasp. What appeared on the page is pure stream of consciousness, presented here in paragraph form for easier reading. It is a personal reflection, so why am I posting it here?
Good question.
Sitting in the reading chair as I read the last chapters of Proverbs this morning, I suddenly noticed that I was enclosed by the sound of silence. Once recognized, it became a focus, leading me deeper into meditation until I found myself standing before His throne. All I could do was silently praise Him. Even the silence seemed holy and I dared not disturb it. The meditation time, at least the sitting in the chair portion of it, is past, but it remains upon me, surrounding me, engulfing me.
Eating my morning yogurt, it continued to press in. At one point I thought to myself that I have taken on the role of Dave Bowman at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey, the scene where he sits quietly while eating at the table in the white room while engulfed in this same kind of silence. Surreal silence. Alone but not alone. Presence surrounds, perceived but not fully understood. Peaceful. Serene. Mysterious. Quiet. Perfect. And now I do not want anything to end it, but of course it must end. Things must get done.
The vacuum must roam. The washer and dryer must slosh and spin. Keyboard keys must click and clack. None of them will be this perfect and it seems a shame that I must be the one to make it all end. But of course, only I can.
As Dr. Frank Poole abandoned Bowman, I too have been abandoned, but only in the dimension where such is the normal course of affairs. In the other dimension there is no abandonment, no separation, no pain, no loss. There is an atmosphere of joy, praise, and awe. How wonderful it must be. A rhetorical question comes to mind: I wonder if she has met Frank Poole there? What a ludicrously silly thought! Yet, it comes. I wonder what it means other than that the thoughts of old men need explaining simply because it is not possible. One could sit in perfect silence a long time contemplating the matter.
More important, I think, is to recognize, appreciate, and be thankful for the gift and the moment that brings it to the heart. A moment of silence, depth, awe. It will soon end, at least on the outside, but on the inside? On the inside the peace and serenity is unbreakable, at least for now.
The healing it brings, the presence, of being in the Presence and its love and care, these need never be broken. They are real and formidable. They are to be accepted and honored. They cannot be taken, only lost.
Lost? How? Only by forgetting. By becoming too busy to remember. By moving on.
My advice, friend? Don’t.
Shalom
If you’ve ever experienced a moment of unusual peace, don’t rush past it. Sit with it for a while. Ask what it came to teach you. Then find a way to remember, because some gifts are not lost when they leave us—they are lost only when we become so busy we forget.