We must, as we race around our tracks or travel from horizon to horizon, stop occasionally for stillness. On the mountaintops and in the caves, by the streams and under trees in the city parks, stillness waits for us to come and sit again with ourselves.
Other times, wonderfully, stillness visits us. In that eternity of the breaking dawn, she comes. In the midnight hours, she is there. Out here in the desert, there is sometimes a sacred hush even when the sun is poised overhead and the land simmers in heat.
Let us, racers and runners after banners all, not be inhospitable when stillness visits.
Would you welcome your parents to your house only if they called ahead, and otherwise run them off? It is no different. If you meditate in the morning, you must still prepare tea for stillness if she visits in the afternoon. Do not run and busy yourself.
If the work is all done, do not worry that you are not being productive or that you are being inefficient. Listen to yourself in stillness, and you will know why the Beloved has granted you a pause.
Perhaps you need healing. In our constant running and striving we build fictions of ourselves and then wound those fictions. In stillness, the fictions and their wounds dissolve into the rippling waves of consciousness.
Perhaps you are called to something different, something new. Perhaps the time has come to put down old toys, or to find a new song, or to complete a painting you started long ago. In stillness, the subtle currents of intuition and spirit can be heard.
Perhaps, astoundingly, the Beloved wishes to sit companionably with you a while. When stillness visits, sometimes she is the tearing of the veil – sometimes, blessed hearts, stillness itself is the miracle.