Silence. Greeting the day with nothing. Ears strain, grasping for some sound out of the morning. No birdsong. Nothing. Only a shishing pulse in my head, counting down toward some next thing.
Be still... But junkie wants to reach for remote, for "On" button, for agitation. Junkie needs sound. Junkie wants entertained. Gulum-like insanity.
Breathe. Take in the silence. Listen beyond it for some better Word.
...and know that... Is there something to find in this nothing? Seeking, stretching, straining for stimulation. But no. All is quiet. Nothing in the emptiness.
Breathe. Be still.
Is there purpose in this new-day vacuum, where no expectations await me? ...i am not god.
The morning wood kicks into flame, ticking the stove and lighting its side of the room. From dark to light. From silence to crackling. From cool, to warming-heat.
O Life-giving mystery, teach me to pray beyond the static of the world. Tame my spirit so it longs for something beyond the inane teasings of this age. Hold me still long enough, that I tire of wiggling.