By now, every thermometer I have has burst at temperatures over 130 degrees. The abbot of the monastery suggested I make a journey up to a cave in the mountains with an elderly monk as guide. We had to walk barefoot as we were walking on holy ground. Under my breath I muttered and grumbled. The monk was well aware of me, and as I began to listen to what he was murmuring, I discovered it was melodic. He was actually singing a song of praise for the wonder and beauty of the day as I was accursing!
"In my family there was much speaking and much silence. The speaking of words flowed from the speaking of our silences."
"What then is silence?"
"It is being. Spoken language and silence are keys."
"Keys to what?"
"To communion."
"What do you mean by communion?"
"At-oneness. each individual IS a word. As you are a word to me. As we are all words for one another."