Perhaps nothing would be said at first, but eventually a sound, a poem, an artwork or an impression would spark an exchange, and there would be a clear flow of meditative, constructive thought. Periodic silences would follow, to which we both listened almost as if the quiet were a third party speaking to us. And in response to that stillness we would breathe deeply, come to a sort of relaxed attention, and in a humble, reverent manner lower our eyes, as though acknowledging the mystical presence of something greater.
I like to live in the sound of water, in the feel of mountain air.
A sharp reminder hits me: this world is still alive,
it stretches out there shivering toward its own
creation. And I'm part of it. Even my breathing
enters into this elaborate give-and-take,
this bowing to sun and moon. day or night.
winter, summer, storm, still—this tranquil
chaos that seems to be going somewhere.
This wilderness with a great peacefulness in it.
This motionless turmoil, this everything dance.