I AM A SOFTNESS
What is it about the quiet that makes me tingle? What is it about the warm stillness that is rippled only by my breathing and even that is very still?
I know I am something soft. I like to consider myself in this way. True soft things are gentle and yet have a presence based on some interior quality that is not weak. I like to think that I am a quietness in the midst of a Silence that is home to all I can be and express. I like this notion. I am a soft thing safe in a wonderment of being. Never hurried. Never worried. Never lost. Never alone but safe and sound in a room so rosy warm that the walls of my concerns become flowers to deck my wallpaper and I live in the garden of delights no longer undone by my (merely borrowed) fears. I am not searching. I stand on stillness and let the echoes from a sweet understanding hold me gently without restraint, and hold me fast and make the moment everlasting.
I am soft like the rain that refreshes my garden’s flowers. I am soft like the colors in the fields outside my house. I am soft and so still, and nearly silent. I need not make a sound to be heard. I need not shout or cry or explain. There is nothing to explain and I need nothing explained to me. I am not in doubt. I am not puzzled or uncertain; softness moves my revolution of night and day and I spin gently like a top that never grows dizzy. I cannot break for I have no brittleness. My softness is my strength. My softness is my solace on this journey of hard edges.
I am a softness so powerful that I create worlds upon worlds of wonder for my delight and for -- no other reason.
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Words & Pictures © by Arlene Graston
All Rights Reserved
