Broken Light

There is a piece of God in silence, albeit small and kernel-like it is a piece.  Call it a seed if you will or a shard of the broken light. Whatever it is and by whatever name you call it, it is the same small iota of stillness hidden in us all.  Waiting.

Sitting calls it out. Quiet calls it out. Pausing between each breath calls it out. And when it has poked its head out of its hiddenness, be sure to greet it with kindness. For this is where your soul grows out from, this is where spirit touches life.  THE life.

Park yourself by a fire and watch the curls of smoke escape heavenward. Watch the tongues of flame lick at the wood until it burns with their same ember resemblance.  Without the darkness to consume your all.

The ridges along the bark, long fallen from

the tree, are maps of divine disclosure.  Look into their risings and indentations; collapse into the quiet of their agreed upon positions.  For the ONE that crafted their design, beckons you to recognize yours, and calls you slowly into the quiet.