I wrote this poem many, many years ago, after a trauma. Before the trauma, I was a person who talked too much. The shock from the trauma lasted about two years, during which I made friends with the silence and emptiness inside me. I love the stillness this trauma gifted me with. It carved great chasms into my being, within which Spirit could enter. 

Emptiness

 

The Great Mystery spirals about me

A slow mist in silence creeping

seeping in through open wounds

into the emptiness of my soul

Everything and nothing

Again I surrender.

Listen. Feel. Know.

I give in

I let go to Mystery

I give up defining myself

Who I am, how I feel, where to go…

Because I am everything and nothing

Empty

And full

Stretched

Between here and nowhere

I am still

Content

The silence grows

Like a monolith towering over me

I sit in respectful awe

My skin is burned

My shell crumbles

I am rendered, torn asunder

My soul scattered in pieces on the floor

Is this what it takes to know Silence?