So believed my Quaker ancestors.
It is this sitting. The stillness. The silence. That I run from. Try to elude.
Yet at times, I crave, desire, need and find myself falling into. The sweet nothingness. This escape. This place of peace. The tug and pull on my psyche, my soul, my mind.
Is it centuries of forced quietness that runs through my veins, embedded in my DNA, that I run, fight, evade and sometimes rebel against? Feeling forced to comply with.
Is it centuries of quiet retreat that I yearn for, that turning inward to see outward?
Yes. My soul longs for these moments of silence. Which my ego and mind fight.
There is something.
To hear. To be heard.
God. The universe.
Can be heard in these moments of silence.
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