Whispers of sweet nothingness

Sitting in this morning's meditation group, I had an overpowering urge to listen a little harder, soften my heart, and settle a little more.

Like waiting for a bird to appear in the palm of a waiting hand, my soul was reaching out to something so tiny and precious that I needed to be in a group with equally silent and still souls to practice this deeper quiet. This is the power of the sangha, the practice group.

Lately, I caught a brief echo from the Universe's whisper. At first I didn't know what to make of it. I don't know who or what this Other is, but it is calling with a rare tickle that catches my attention and is gone.

Rumi's tiny poetry speaks volumes: this space is like lovers sharing the quiet of the dark awake, alert and softened by a tender intimacy where every cell is alert and waiting.

This Other isn't "out there," but resides in our hearts, our broken and pierced hearts; This Other resides in the compassionate heart space everywhere in our bodies and just beyond.

I imagine the warmth of holding hands, the joy of pointing out the stars together, or hushed murmurs that even the animals dare not bother to intrude upon, except for the call of the owls in the night echoing in the hills.

"Shhh," my heart calls to my head, "there, there," as I wait patiently for this Lover to signal its arrival with a breath.

Is it always this close, I think? As close as our breaths?

I relax and inhale more deeply, reaching out to touch something, but nothing is there.

The air blows a wisp of hair from one side of my forehead to the other, like a mother's loving gesture.

Once, I was walking across the kitchen to put away the dishes and the whisper/non-whispered Silence woke me up, giving me a twinge of awareness. Yes, wow'ed me with presence and rearranged my molecules like a lover's hair the next morning.

Lately, I've experienced this quietness fall over me as I work in therapy sessions. I want to gentle the couples in front of me and remind them that God is at work beyond the realm of reason, beyond fixing these trite squabbles that rattle and terrify them so soundly. Or, I wish I could drain the drama and fear from women in session who don't know themselves.

We only have this moment: how do you want to live your lives?

How do I want to live my life?

I am no better than anyone else, no more enlightened. It is the question I pose to others because it is the only question that matters. I keep waiting for an answer that make sense. And, that is the problem.

Like the ancient's who sought after God, the Divine Cloud mists and obscures a clarity that cannot be known. Somehow my path is hidden leaving me to trust that there is great beauty and brilliance under the cover of the night's dome.

How could it not be so when whispers of sweet nothingness call?

I continue to practice the ordinary things of daily life - attempting each thing one breath at a time with the Universe reciprocating and sharing with all who draw breath - with a deep resonance that is beyond human hearing.