Lens-Artists Photo Challenge: A Quiet Moment

“Live quietly in the moment and see the beauty of all before you. The future will take care of itself.” ~ Paramahansa Yogananda

Patti’s challenge this morning is to capture on camera a quiet moment. 

“All of our great traditions – religious, contemplative and artistic- say that you must a learn how to be alone and have a relationship with silence. It is difficult, but it can start with just the tiniest quiet moment.” ~ David Whyte

I am spending a quiet weekend taking care of my friends’ dogs in their home while they are away. Like me, they don’t own a TV, they are musicians, and they love walking in nature. Walking their dogs is a pleasure. 

Their dogs are very mellow in the daytime and rather vigilant at night. Nocturnal animals in the backyard bring them out of a seemingly sound sleep and propel them downstairs, barking. This is the first time I’ve shared a bed with dogs overnight. Hence, I’m enjoying a very quiet next day to catch up on my rest and take notes on how to enjoy silence and solitude. 

“In the quiet moments of your day, what do you think and do? When you are with your Self and no one else, how does life proceed for you? Who are you when you are alone? Self-creation is a Holy Experience. It is sacred. It is you, deciding Who You Are.” ~ Neale Donald Walsch

May your quiet moments bring you the joy of Self-creation.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Silence

I am at the end of a 12.5 hour work day. The very word ‘silence’ speaks healing and restoration to my soul. I long for silence.
I imagine a muffling snow falling on a wilderness landscape, and I project that onto this view from my front door…

I think of contemplatives in monasteries, reading and meditating… I remember the peaceful silence of still waters…I hope I’ll retire tonight and sleep in dreamless silence. What could be more restful? Good night! 


After the Storm

It’s incredibly quiet today.  The sun is shining, the chill breeze is tinkling the neighbor’s wind chimes, but there are no cars zipping up and down the street.  I can’t hear sirens on the Interstate or trains behind the county park.  The birds and squirrels have eaten the stale bread off the chair in the garden and are probably sunning somewhere out of the wind.  The homeostasis is peace.  The Christmas mania is undetectable.  Steve is tapping away at the keys in the office; I’m tapping away in the bedroom.  No one is speaking.  I have started reading Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies.  I go off to the West Coast of the 60s for a bit, entering another woman’s thoughts as quietly as I enter my own.  And then I lay the book down and gaze into the dazzling light at the foot of the bed.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you” is an appropriate refrain.  The sparrows have started chattering in the hedge.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”   The heater begins to purr in the corner.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”  It seems as silent as a blanket of snow, even though the lawn is still a dull green.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”  All is well.