Where the Stillness Rests

When every sound is silence

And every vision dark,

When any move is violence

Against the soul’s redeeming arc

Arising from its meditation,

The truth becomes the destination

That graces life with wisdom’s spark.

“What truth?” I hear the stillness ask,

As if it hopes to soon embark

From where it rests to bask

In wisdom far removed from here,

And I feel rise a touch of fear,

For every word is incomplete,

Each spoken thing, at best, a piece

Of some unfathomed whole we meet

Where reason stops and stories cease.

Beyond the sounds our mouths can utter,

Eternal chords, far deeper, flutter

But vanish when we train our ear

And try to capture what they say

Or write them down to make them clear.

The fuller part remains astray

Unless we let the stillness rest

And know the truth’s an endless quest.

 

 

Sometimes, when I start writing a poem, I don't have a very clear idea of what it will be about. This one began like that, with what I thought were some interesting lines about meditation. But I wasn't sure where to go after "the stillness" asks its question. I ended up writing the rest of it in short spurts over the next few months, until finally reaching a point that felt like some sort of conclusion. It eventually arrives at the idea that (perhaps like this poem) our search for wisdom and truth is never truly over.