The hour calls for stillest breath,
to cast aside all clamor’s weight.
No word, no book, no memory\'s thread,
but hollowed self, emptied and bare.
Strip thought to its softest echo,
let silence stretch its endless wings.
The stillness hums where God abides,
a pulse without demand or shape.
Noise is the veil, agitation the fog,
they crush the whisper of his nearness.
Only in the void\'s waiting hush
can his timeless voice be heard.
Motionless, we align with what is.
Expectant, the present blooms eternal.
In this silent, tender surrender,
God, whole and whole, is here.