Whenever you come to me I have no questions for you, only openness. Nothing needs be spoken. Everything is in its place; all is accounted for.
But when you leave... I am like a harbor without a boat; a nest without a bird; a cup that somehow knows what it means to have capacity, yet that sits without any means to fill itself except for this flood of questions rushing to pour themselves into where you once were.
What is it about you? How is it that your footsteps through my heart -- even on their way out -- leave only imprints of a new promise?
What is in your hand that can touch my soul almost imperceptibly, yet move it so much?
How do you speak to me of all that matters without ever saying a word? Coming out of the darkness, going into it, and then back out again almost unannounced, save the sudden sense of awakening light left there in your place? What is it about you?
It would not be too hard to imagine how, long, long ago before men and women had learned that the earth revolved, turning herself around the sun, that with the close of each day they would huddle together, trembling, asking amongst themselves, "Where has the great light gone to? What did we do to cause the warmth to depart? Will it return?"
One can almost guess how these early nights of our distant ancestors would be filled with a certain apprehension -- for what if the light of their lives chose never to return again!
Of course such questions seem silly now... after all, the sun never quits the sky but only waits for the earth to turn and face the light.
Remember to Remember
When your senses reel,
And all you can feel
Is the pull of the world on you...
... Cling fast to your Aim,
Remember His name
And strive in your Work to be True.