So much of us remains hidden. So much of our voice, even when spoken, may never feel heard. To speak and not be heard is a painful life experience. It may cause us, in our fear, to lock away some of our best gifts in the darkest chambers of our hearts.
I feel a sadness for voices never heard, for gold lost in the shadows beneath the trees, for dear people I know who share just enough of their hearts to reveal that there is so much more living in the still waters of their souls. It brought these words:
Often
.
Often
I wonder about the stream
that flows beneath your voice,
the wordless current
that surges below syllables,
the hidden truth that courses
toward the unknown lake.
Often
I wonder what thoughts dwell
in the endless wells of your eyes.
What echoes sing to each other
in the caves that line the valley
or hide in the shadows away
from the sun-drenched flower?
Often
I imagine entering these waters
of yours, listening to your other
voices, hearing the music of your
secret songs.
Journal of Sacred Work 
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