Silence - an epilogue [disciplines of the inner life]

EPILOGUE: a poem from my semi-silent retreat with my husband (semi- because the goal was not to spend time in fervent Bible-study and prayer, but to just be together and away from daily distractions (read: noisy, demanding, intrusive offspring); semi- also because the fire alarm in the Inn went off, not once, but twice during the night and I have never been so terrified by a noise in my entire life!)

monastery

Thank you also for the silence of the place --
the snow-covered,
untracked, frozen lake.
The lights on the dock. The
light reflected on the white
tile in the bathroom and
streaming across the crisp
white sheets in the bedroom.

Thank You for the empty
comfort of the Inn. The
richness of polished wood
at the front desk and up the
banister, around each door and
window and over the massive
fireplace in the silent lobby.
Up the stairs, another layer of
sound is stripped away like an
overcoat.

Thank You for the silent
sweetness of champagne
and fleshy, breathy kisses
from my husband. Thank
You for the beautiful
sound of water coursing
through rumbly pipes from the belly
of the aged building, plunking
now in driplets from the curved
elegance of the spout onto
the quiet feminity of polished
toes, lapping across my thawing skin, and bubbling
out again from eager jets into winter-knotted
muscles.

Thank You for the secrative fire of candles
like smoky polka-dots scented in
orange blossom and vanilla. The silent,
sacred eighteen-year old dance dressed
in sheeted whispers from my
lover.

Silence drips and pools through my senses,
my mind, my veins.
Coursing through this aged body and lapping
up against my life-knotted thoughts--soothing
separating
tenderizing
undressing each snarl of fear
anger
distrust
and anxiety. Spreading me plain
and soft in the clean light again.