In the absence of words
the mind still does its melodies
sometimes with attention,
sometimes not,
and images may rise to meet the tunes
In the absence of conscious thought
the breath of life can still entrance —
so many variations to its inrush,
so many swirls within the currents
of its outward flow
In the absence of direction
the heart’s impulse, still present,
guides the mind into the stillness
before the words —
the quiet spring,
the soft upwelling
of what most needs to be heard.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 19, 2013
Thank you, dear Wendy.