Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Home on the range for Splendour in the Grass

On our way to the chapel to confess our sins

It's strange how you can develop a synergy with a place, a piece of land, as if some invisible umbilical cord binds you together, like you have spent a life time there long ago in ancient times and there are scriptures sprawled across the walls so that when you return in another lifetime you can recognize them as your own and know that you are home again. Everyone has that one place. That place where you feel like kneeling down before you leave and sinking your lips into the soil for one last prayer of thanks. It's that place you come for stillness, for silence, and all you can hear is the sweet rush of blood inside of your ears and it sounds like the ocean and the wind and the fire and the earth. That's what silence is to me, it's when all four elements come crashing together in one huge explosion like The Big Bang and then there is silence and peace and nothing left but a giant speck of dust suspended in the universe. That's what silence is, it's when everything comes to a stand still and pauses in time and space while the angels hold their breath and admire Creation.

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