Silent Silence


Like a hooded falcon at rest,
silent silence asks little.

Listen…

Fearing tumult at birth's door,
mothers intuitively send the quiet asunder,
knowing attachment bodes ill,
as the preamble to silence and being
insists on quiet.

Savagely Silence clings to grounding,
aware,
but not of danger,
anticipating,
but not of respite.

For…

Just as the falcon must ready the flight,
talon-cinched safety gives way to freedom's silence beckoning
as umbilical’s reality secures
our random flings of arms and legs,
understanding silence gives way
to crying,
screaming,
crawling,
walking,
and finally running,
but to where?

Being ambulatory
moves through yesterday's silence,
leaving behind birth's soft caress,
the inner soft voice asking…

Why?

Modernity's torrid insistence
pushes growth beyond
one's birthing moment,
one's ambition,
one's anything.

While Silent Silence remains ever faithful,
patient of longing,
knowing the outer noise
is but an illusion
unknowingly needing to rejoin
the unknown,
where there may be a place Zen’s quiet
hears familiar silent silence
and is willing to share.