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The Sound of Silence

Psalm 46:10 “Be still and know that I Am God.”

Do you know what silence sounds like?

Did you know that music is a series of sounds separated by silence?

In this busy world, it is almost impossible to hear the sound of silence.

However, I treasure it above all else.

Imagine a magical, serene time totally void of any sound on your ears.

One’s mind completely relaxes, and one can visualize waves breaking on a distant, sandy shore – without sound.

From deep within our mind, a new, pure thought emerges in this blessed silence.

It would have never arrived in its present form because of the noise, clutter, give and take of everyday life. Instead, it would have arrived all covered in bandages from injuries caused by the extraneous, outside world. It would be confused, lacking clarity, and without peace.

The idea is to intentionally become more aware of the Sound of Silence.

God bless your journey!

I Believe

When I hear a newborn baby’s cry

And the sun warms my back from a clear blue sky,

I believe!

 

When a cold white snowflake alights on my nose

And sun-warmed sand tickles my toes,

I believe!

 

When I can sense a presence and no one is there,

And trouble arises, yet I’m none the worse for wear,

I believe!

 

When problems surround us and evil raises its head,

I lean on the promises which stand me in good stead:

I believe!

 

I believe when I gaze on the immense, wonderful array

Of budding trees and flowering plants to children at play,

Yes, I believe!

 

The road is long and weary with hard labor along the way,

Yet we struggle on, hoping for a brighter day,

Striving to believe.

 

Should you listen carefully with your inner ear,

Spiritual music and words of praise will soothe away your fear.

Then maybe you’ll believe.

The Dancers

Through ancient shifting sands of time,

Two souls interlocked sublime,

Dancing in ecstasy to continuous unheard music,

Like sand falls endlessly through the hourglass of Time.

Cowboy Heaven

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

The cowboys are gone,

At least so I hear.

“Not so,” said my friend,

“Lend me your ear.”

 

Acting very quickly

On my friend’s good advice,

I went to Cowboy Heaven

And did a double take — twice.

 

The dance hall was crowded,

And, folks, I will swear

There were cowboys and cowgirls

Dancing everywhere.

 

One tall wrangler

Stood out so stark…

He wore a neon hatband

That glowed in the dark.

 

He wore an oilskin outbacker

That reached his boot tops.

He was sweating and stomping

To fast country pop.

 

Another short puncher

Cam shufflin’ along.

He was dressed up for dancin’

And bad-to-the-bone.

 

He wore a flannel checkered shirt

While his partner wore lace.

His huge belt buckle shone.

Mascara ran down her face.

 

Another wrangler came driftin’ by

Wearing sandals and socks.

He bellied up to the bar

And ordered Schnapps on the rocks.

 

It sounded like thunder

As boots shook the floor.

They did the Boot Scootin’ Boogie

And were anxious for more.

 

One huge cowgirl

Dancing and struttin’ around

Must have weighed in

At three hundred pounds.

 

She and her puncher

Were having a fling.

She was large enough

To rope steer with a string.

 

The music was so loud

My nerves were a-tingling.

This one rowdy romped by…

His spurs were a-jingling.

 

Cowboy Heaven, Do-si-dos,

Electric Slide, and Cotton-eyed Joe,

Achy Breaky, sweat and strain,

Cowboys and cowgirls feelin’ no pain.

 

The music slowed down…

You could even hear the tune.

Some crooner was singing

About a Neon Moon.

 

Why did I worry myself

About the cowboys being gone?

They’re all at the Cowboy Heaven,

And they’ve all found a home.

Raindrops

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

Raindrops falling steadily

Splashing into dimpled pools,

Making soft music.

Countless tiny, wet bodies

Sacrifice themselves willingly

To give refreshing drink.

Suddenly, emerging sunlight

Brings a dazzling ending

To the falling slaughter.

A single droplet clings

To a leaf while straining

To join its fallen comrades.

Caught by a sun-lit ray,

Magnifying its brilliance —

‘Tis truly a most beautiful jewel.

Silent Tribute

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

Shrouded mist,

Bagpipe dirge,

Mournful notes

Oe’r heath and verge.

 

Spirit departs,

Yet not alone,

Presence felt

Although it’s gone.

 

Last note falls

Like a gentle kiss,

Wafting through

Thickened mist.

 

Note wears thin,

No longer heard.

Break not this silence

With spoken word.

Dreamwalk

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

Softly, I’m borne away on quiet, muffled wings

Of a beautiful butterfly which only I am privileged to see.

Gorgeous multicolored wings gracefully lift me like a feather,

Bringing my spirit to that very special sanctuary

Which is filled with rainbows, solitude and, of course, dreams.

 

Here in this special place,

My imagination paints only with soft colors.

Each tree, shrub, vine or plant produces fruits

And flowers in the seasons of my dreams.

Birds of every species and color grace tree and shrub.

They dart here and there, affording hours of pleasure to the eye.

The soft, sweet music of their song carried on the fragrant air

Brings solace to the inner soul.

The heart is light, dancing from sheer exuberance!

 

Here in my special place, fish bite when fished for,

And grain or fruit grows in abundance when seeds are planted.

Rushing or hurry are strictly forbidden,

And time stands still on command.

Dreams occur in Technicolor, and fantasies are commonplace.

My unfettered imagination is in complete control,

Able to travel into open and distant space instantly.

In my mind, I can visit any continent, country, city or place

At a snap of my fingers.

 

Here, any desire can achieve satisfaction

As soon as it’s realized and identified,

Without worry, pain or regret.

Should none of my earthly desires satisfy,

Then my inner spirit can be nourished

Through simple, quiet, relaxing thought patterns.

Peaceful, serenity reigns in assurance that all is well

And under complete control of my consciousness.

 

 

Controlled Strings

This thought comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

Life, like a marionette,

One breath, one step, one day at a time,

Dancing to monotonous music, but—

Who controls the lines?

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