“At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is, But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity, Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.”
~ T.S. Eliot, from Burnt Norton, Four Quartets
God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night.
Where do you see a window you can open for a subtle sacrament to slip into your day?
The seed of life is within us all, our dance here is mundane, strange and wonderful.
to fashion universes out of emptiness
Meanwhile, someplace in the world, somebody is making love and another a poem.
Many on the spiritual path rightfully long for a sudden point in time when a shift happens
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