Teach Me Silence

Teach Me Silence

(“Those who want to be rich are falling into temptation and into a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires, which plunge them into ruin and destruction.” 1 Timothy 6:9)

Can I learn more about you, the silence between
the commercial rants and conversational winds?
Do I need to listen to every interview with the next
entrepreneur hawking what I never needed but want
just the same?
Can I conquer this need for occupation,
can I slow down my mind?
What of the hands on the clock that mark my hours
more slowly than the day? What of the tremor I feel
just wanting to get out of my skin? If I could
buy everything (retail or closeout) how much
quieter would I seem? I don’t say much, but my
brain unsteadily steams like the iron wheels of a train.

I’ve never had much money,
don’t know where I’d shop if did. Maybe the
minutes would tell me how to satisfy these desires.
Maybe the hours would empty my treasure chest
buried closely to the line where land and sea meet.
Maybe my heart would beat to the rhythm of the waves,
and maybe I would be still long enough to know
I have everything that I need.

The fingerprints of the world are whorled on
my transparent brain. I never wipe them clean. They
inform me of everything like rafts
carrying pelts from northern excursions. I inspect
every one but leave them for someone else to purchase.

Take me silence, teach me stillness. I’ll lay my
yearning aside for an hour of solitude, though I barely
talk
to anyone all day. Is there a word in the center of me
that can define my cravings? I’ve run out of energy
and no longer pursue them. But they still occupy my
thinking every day.

Meet me, find me in the middle of my sentences that
trail on for hours at a time. Unpack my density,
my destiny seems to be wound up and tangled like
vines in the middle of a rose garden. Meet me
finally where I can hear only silence waiting for
me.