Writing in the Silence
I came to do the typing. The words will be what they will. I will record them as they choose to flutter by. It is not hard, now, because they move at a pace I can keep up with; they are no longer running faster than my legs can carry me. It is probably good for all of us to slow down, to recollect the sense and the sound of the words—of the silences, too. How can you carry on without taking a pause for breath: a nice, solid, uncluttered pause, free from the need to do anything in particular? A lot is said about being. Being as opposed to doing. There is truth in this distinction. I can only speak to what I learn from being in the silence. Silence is the best teacher I have found. Many ideas run and play in the talking-through of things, but they only stop their gamboling and mature into full flower when the rushing has ceased, when their roots can sink into something solid. This is the nature of things. When human beings are restored to nature—which is based in simplicity—they find the truth they have been seeking. Live in harmony with the simple principles of life, and the simple pleasures of being alive will make themselves yours. There will be plenty of water and food and time to share. It makes you peaceful, this breath of pause, this listening for simplicity. You could search the whole wide world over for a teacher and would find nothing so beautiful or wise as this silence, this simple act of being open and ready to listen. Where do I find the authority to talk like this? I have no real authority. It is simply the gift of a continual listening, a pause with every word, to hear the stirrings of the next syllable of thought. In this way, I put together whatever sense has chosen to present its nature to me today. The record of its nature—its very imprint—is never complete. You must take a moment to stop doing and listen for yourself. The thrum-thrum of your heartbeat keeps you alive: but it is only known to you when you take a moment to seek it out and still the noise around you. Why search far and wide for the simple truths that have already found you? You make the work so trying and painful. It is not meant to be an arduous task. Simply open yourself to being your very self—“who is this self?” you ask; but that is for you to answer—and do not think your way into solutions or puzzles. You will only confuse yourself. Your mind—you can leave it to play. You must not bother with its activity now. Your help will come in the shape of a heart and you will find what you have been longing to see.