The Magic of Silence

The magic of silence is extraordinary. Where there is no quietude, even the loveliest symphony becomes hollow. Without the art of listening, the world's most beautiful words cannot heal a single wound of the heart. Sometimes the absence of distance renders eternal closeness meaningless. To lighten the burden of the heart and prepare oneself for the Creator's grace, one must return again and again to silence. True prayer is to lay all one's load upon the Creator's shoulders and then, with an unburdened mind, go about one's work. Then within a single body, two different beings labor. One being carries the burden on behalf of the Creator; the other, light of limb, works on tirelessly.

When we awaken, we become a lamp burning bright, spreading light upon the world. In that light comes the purification of our soul. We ourselves must decide what our present and future will be. If we do not arrange the design of our own life, someone else will arrange it for us. If we remain asleep, unawakened, we shall one day find ourselves the servants of another's will and whim. The Creator's command is in truth the latent celestial injunction of our own conscience. In a quieted heart, listening to the voice of conscience—nourished by love and compassion for humankind—we draw near to our goal. It is through the awakening of the heart's nobility that we approach the desired end. By steadying our stand against injustice, by sacrificing apparent happiness, and by taking compassion and kindness as our companions, we receive the Creator's grace.

When hope's light plays across life, dispelling despair's sunless night, the withering heart grows fresh again in that auspicious dawn hour. By the touch of the Creator's beauty and excellence, even a silent point gains the vastness of an ocean; by the caress of divine light, the firefly's faint glow burns brighter than the most radiant star. To bind oneself in such enchantment, one must soak the heart in unwavering faith and love. The person indifferent to their own strength differs scarcely from the powerless. To walk as a traveler upon the path of eternal truth requires the infinite courage and patience to embrace the death of one's deluded self. Yet even in that moment of resurrection from death, death's certain and irresistible pull calls from behind. The immediate past forever tries to chain the feet of the present.