Meditation: From a Silent Retreat

‘Are you listening?’  Oh yes, I am.

‘What do you hear?’  I hear nothing.

‘Listen harder.’

Okay, I hear the birds.

‘What do they say?’

Whatever is in them to say -

This is their song. They call, they wait, They listen for a response.

Such curious little creatures, Free to fly, driven by hunger,

They know the way to find food, warmth, a partner.

They live dependent, simple, uncomplicated.

They have all they need.

‘Do you hear their song?’  Yes; they have a voice. 

They open their mouths - they find food for their bellies,

And voice a song.

‘Where does that song come from?’  You made them to sing, I suppose.

You gave them their voice, so they sing.

‘What has happened to your voice?’

I am not like the birds, O Lord.

My voice got trapped, stuck within. I am not simple,

Trusting, uncomplicated. 

I have no wings to fly.

“Oh for the wings of a dove - far away would I roam.

In the wilderness build me a nest,

And remain there forever at rest…”

I hear this song deep within me.

I feel in good company.

Someone else has felt these things too.

In my solitary pilgrimage, voices from history,

The Psalmist, for one, 

Remind me it is a well-worn path:

My yearning to flee is not foreign to the mystic’s soul.