The tender hush

The tender hush,

silence,

tranquil,

subtle.

Silence becomes the only truth,

the womb of God,

so quiet,

softly,

like the leaves of the willow

or the tall grass

swaying gently

in the breath of breeze.

How it says so much,

unspoken.

How the rush,

the many speaking,

debating to prove,

get lost in the dust,

monsoon of speculation.

Yet the womb,

the womb waits,

the womb carries,

the womb is.

And we fall,

lie down,

unseen,

hidden from the scheme of things.

And we rest in the womb,

and no one knows

from where we come

or where we go,

but the one

who is the womb,

unchanging.

A deep, dwelling reflection. This writing does not describe silence — it enters it. There is no effort in it, no reaching upward, no explaining. It moves downward — into the womb, into rest, into the place before words and beyond concepts. The tenderness you use is important: not a harsh void, not emptiness as absence, but silence as presence so full it no longer needs sound. For more: c-The tender hush | One Heart Love