Waiting for the silt to settle

The deluge of rain brings silt down from the hillsides. Pouring into the lake, it takes a while to settle.

We can’t do anything to speed up the process.

Instead, we have a fresh opportunity to go gently and watch the drips from the willow create interesting ripples in the churned-up water.

Knowing that in a day or two, we will see clearly again. Yet it will be different because of the movement.

And isn’t that like life?

Things getting unsettled and churned up take time to filter through. If we try to hurry it up, we create more mess.

Instead, we have to be with the disturbance until it has done its work in rearranging our world.

And then, we can stand back and see what has been created.

Some things will have been washed away. While others will be seen in sharper relief, and a few dips and cracks will have been filled in.

We don’t always know what we need. But somehow, giving up control and being open to the flow is the best place to be.

After all, good silt can be full of nutrients.

~

This week

This week has been quite a mixture – like the weather here in the valley ­– though I hope that you have encountered some resonance with where you are, at least for some of the time.

Creating space

What or who do you need to create space for this weekend?

IN SILENCE

Be still
Listen to the stones of the wall.
Be silent, they try
To speak your

Name.
Listen
To the living walls.
Who are you?
Who
Are you? Whose
Silence are you?

Who (be quiet)
Are you (as these stones
Are quiet). Do not
Think of what you are
Still less of
What you may one day be.
Rather
Be what you are (but who?) be
The unthinkable one
You do not know.

O be still, while
You are still alive,
And all things live around you
Speaking (I do not hear)
To your own being,
Speaking by the Unknown
That is in you and in themselves.

‘I will try, like them
To be my own silence:
And this is difficult. The whole
World is secretly on fire. The stones
Burn, even the stones
They burn me. How can a man be still or
Listen to all things burning? How can he dare
To sit with them when
All their silence
Is on fire?’

+ Thomas Merton, from Collected Poems of Thomas Merton, 1977

Pause. See differently. Re-story 🌿