I gather this garment
Of silence about me,
Stillness that used to be
Threatening, its needles
Of fear lurking,
Probing wounds of my past scars to my psyche.
Now in the hands of Love
These needles have knitted
A silence so beautiful
That nothing
Can hurt. I draw skeins
Of silence with this healing garment about me,
As its stitches permeate
The crevices of my soul
Whispering, Peace.
Be still—and know:
Now all that would harm you
Is knitted to warm you.
Poet M.C. Richards asks, "In the beginning was the word, but what preceded the word?" Her answer is: SILENCE
A people poverty-stricken for quiet, we! ... Probably never in the history of the world has there been as much noise and as little time in the day for quiet... Carlyle wrote, "Silence is the element in which great things fashion themselves," while Einstein believed that imagination is more important than knowledge. If like prayer, imagination needs silence in which to grow, are we not depriving our very souls with such world-wide noise pollution?