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Writer's pictureFr. Thomas Colyandro

Heal Me, O Silence

I try to understand

How it is

That You are

So near to me?


I want to know why?

I want to know how?

But why do I want to know?


Is it so that I can understand it?

Is it so I can explain it to others?


You fill me.

You surround me.

You are above me.

You raise me up.

You keep me grounded.


You use my hands to bless.

...to anoint.

...to absolve.

...to commune.

...to immerse.


You use my mouth to taste Your sacrifice.

...my eyes to see Your presence.

...my ears to hear Your heavenly hosts.

...my nose to smell prayers rise like incense.


With such a gift

Why do I still feel a hole within?

What is in the hole?

Or, rather, what is lacking in me that created a whole in the first place?


Is it simply sin?

Is it obstinance?

Is it anger?

Over what?


The wounds of my searching are

A failure to remember

That the clanging symbol

Neither hears, nor sees, nor remembers.


The hole that remains

Must be filled with the silence

You already told me was mine.

Heal my wound.


Silence

O beautiful silence!

Be mine

Today, tomorrow, and forever!


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