“. . . a vision softly creeping / Left its seeds while I was sleeping / And the vision that was planted in my brain / Still remains / Within the sound of silence.” That might sound vaguely familiar. Recall Simon and Garfunkle’s “Sound of Silence.”
Visions remain within the sound of silence.
February is my favorite time to retreat to silence, to the desert. There, visions are planted because my mind is free to go off into a fierce and wild journey of the imagination. There is no sign at the entrance of the Wild Horse Desert in South Texas that says, “Here your imagination goes wild” –it’s a well-kept secret.
One February not long ago, not far from where my ancestors walked and worked the earth, the Wild Horse Desert called once again. There, this poem arose in my imagination, within the unsilent sounds. My vision still remains.
Yielding slow as I go, yearning deep to listen.
Still, Yahweh speaks into the desert heart.
Allured I am but hearing merely
Unsilent sounds; numbing noise set apart.
Palm fronds frolic in afternoon breezes
Dancing and announcing: “air is alive!”
Calling to critters and creatures alike
“Get up!” It’s not too late to arrive.
Turkeys gurgle the morning Lauds,
Doves coo-coo in rue refrained hums.
Bees and beetles add their sacred song,
Deer hooves stomp earth’s taut-stretched drum.
This is home. Familiar lives here, dear.
Umbilical pulses bind life to land.
Kinfolk ghosts rest in graves nearby,
Singing glories beyond with a cowboy band.
Why await utterances of a white-bearded Man?
“Foolish!” she laughs from the over-dark tarp.
Javeline and coyot sing shrill night songs.
No bulbs, no flares, save mom moon, sis stars.
“Go fearlessly, my child, life’s concert is fine.
Open the door to my wind-walled palace.”
Noontime porches, dark-night hallways,
Soulfully sipping the once-supped chalice.