These texts are great for using as opening reflections in silence based prayer groups and quiet services or during your own individual times of silence. New poems and prayers are added from time to time.
In addition, why not explore the 50+ image-backed poems contained in the 'Weekly Poem in Covid-19 Times' collection
Letting Go
In letting go of thoughts and thinking
We sink into
Deep Mind.
In letting go of emotion and feeling
We sink into
Deep Heart.
In letting go of action and doing
We sink into
Being.
In letting go of self and other
We sink into
God.
In letting go of letting go
We recognize
That we were never holding on.
We’ve always
And only ever
Been held.
Keith Kristich, see https://keithkristich.com/letting-go-into-deep-mind/
In letting go of thoughts and thinking
We sink into
Deep Mind.
In letting go of emotion and feeling
We sink into
Deep Heart.
In letting go of action and doing
We sink into
Being.
In letting go of self and other
We sink into
God.
In letting go of letting go
We recognize
That we were never holding on.
We’ve always
And only ever
Been held.
Keith Kristich, see https://keithkristich.com/letting-go-into-deep-mind/
Silence
We are anhungered after solitude,
Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound,
Soft quiet hovering over pools profound,
The silences that on the desert brood,
Above a windless hush of empty seas,
The broad unfurling banners of the dawn,
A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun;
Our souls are fain of solitudes like these.
O woman who divined our weariness,
And set the crown of silence on your art,
From what undreamed-of depth within your heart
Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free
To hear an instant, high above earth's stress,
The silent music of infinity?
Sara Teasdale (1884-1933), The Collected Poems of Sara Teasdale (Pantianos Classics), 47.
We are anhungered after solitude,
Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound,
Soft quiet hovering over pools profound,
The silences that on the desert brood,
Above a windless hush of empty seas,
The broad unfurling banners of the dawn,
A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun;
Our souls are fain of solitudes like these.
O woman who divined our weariness,
And set the crown of silence on your art,
From what undreamed-of depth within your heart
Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free
To hear an instant, high above earth's stress,
The silent music of infinity?
Sara Teasdale (1884-1933), The Collected Poems of Sara Teasdale (Pantianos Classics), 47.
Healing
Rest with me
In this moment,
As a leaf
Floats gently down stream ,
Among diamonds of sunlight
Returning to the sky.
Stay in these moments,
As the morning mist
Floats above the surface
Of the lush, green meadows,
On the far side of the stream.
Stay and listen
To the morning song,
Bringing music
To the silence,
A prelude gifted
To the rising sun.
Walk with me
On my journey,
We will talk
Of forgiveness
And peace.
Chris Roe, In Search of Silence (Norfolk: Silent Flight Publications, 2008).
Now only available from the author. To order a copy of this collection of poems, click the button below
Rest with me
In this moment,
As a leaf
Floats gently down stream ,
Among diamonds of sunlight
Returning to the sky.
Stay in these moments,
As the morning mist
Floats above the surface
Of the lush, green meadows,
On the far side of the stream.
Stay and listen
To the morning song,
Bringing music
To the silence,
A prelude gifted
To the rising sun.
Walk with me
On my journey,
We will talk
Of forgiveness
And peace.
Chris Roe, In Search of Silence (Norfolk: Silent Flight Publications, 2008).
Now only available from the author. To order a copy of this collection of poems, click the button below
The Space in Between
You are found in the space in between.
I am found in the space in between.
The space in between thoughts,
acts, plans, goals and desires.
The space where we can breathe.
The space where nothing and everything lies.
The space where peace resides.
The space where wisdom waits,
patiently,
to be welcomed in without words.
The pressing decision,
the fear-filled thought,
the consuming ambition,
the tortured heart.
Let them all fall from the grasp of your awareness.
Let them fall.
Soften your gaze
and
let them fall.
Only then will you see
there is no space.
No empty, unfilled, blackened space.
There is only Love.
But to let it in...
you must listen carefully,
listen carefully to the silent message...
“All else must fall
into the space in between”
Kindah, source unknown.
See La Cassa de Paz website, here, accessed 3.3.22
You are found in the space in between.
I am found in the space in between.
The space in between thoughts,
acts, plans, goals and desires.
The space where we can breathe.
The space where nothing and everything lies.
The space where peace resides.
The space where wisdom waits,
patiently,
to be welcomed in without words.
The pressing decision,
the fear-filled thought,
the consuming ambition,
the tortured heart.
Let them all fall from the grasp of your awareness.
Let them fall.
Soften your gaze
and
let them fall.
Only then will you see
there is no space.
No empty, unfilled, blackened space.
There is only Love.
But to let it in...
you must listen carefully,
listen carefully to the silent message...
“All else must fall
into the space in between”
Kindah, source unknown.
See La Cassa de Paz website, here, accessed 3.3.22
Breathing Underwater
I built my house by the sea.
Not on the sands, mind you;
not on the shifting sand.
And I built it of rock.
A strong house
by a strong sea.
And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.
Good neighbours.
Not that we spoke much.
We met in silences.
Respectful, keeping our distance,
but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.
Always, the fence of sand our barrier,
always, the sand between.
And then one day,
-and I still don’t know how it happened -
the sea came.
Without warning.
Without welcome, even
Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand like wine,
less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.
Slow, but coming.
Slow, but flowing like an open wound.
And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning and I thought of death.
And while I thought the sea crept higher, till it reached my door.
And I knew, then, there was neither flight, nor death, nor drowning.
That when the sea comes calling, you stop being neighbours,
Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance neighbours,
And you give your house for a coral castle,
And you learn to breathe underwater.
Sr. Carol Bialock, RSCJ
See Richard Rohr, Breathing Underwater (Franciscan Media, 2011), xiii-xiv and
Carol Bialock, Coral Castles (Fernwood Press, Oregon, 2019).
I built my house by the sea.
Not on the sands, mind you;
not on the shifting sand.
And I built it of rock.
A strong house
by a strong sea.
And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.
Good neighbours.
Not that we spoke much.
We met in silences.
Respectful, keeping our distance,
but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.
Always, the fence of sand our barrier,
always, the sand between.
And then one day,
-and I still don’t know how it happened -
the sea came.
Without warning.
Without welcome, even
Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand like wine,
less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.
Slow, but coming.
Slow, but flowing like an open wound.
And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning and I thought of death.
And while I thought the sea crept higher, till it reached my door.
And I knew, then, there was neither flight, nor death, nor drowning.
That when the sea comes calling, you stop being neighbours,
Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance neighbours,
And you give your house for a coral castle,
And you learn to breathe underwater.
Sr. Carol Bialock, RSCJ
See Richard Rohr, Breathing Underwater (Franciscan Media, 2011), xiii-xiv and
Carol Bialock, Coral Castles (Fernwood Press, Oregon, 2019).
The Dark
In the dark
there is a gift
I might have missed
in the bright of day.
It is the slowing of time,
the sense of air
soft filling each space,
touching my face,
of self with no mask
or pretence,
no agenda,
no inner or outer pressure,
just silence so loud
I can hear it.
It is so empty, it is full.
I can feel all that is there,
all that is always there,
although I am not.
I can honour it
by doing nothing.
Jane Upchurch, unpublished.
See CANA newsletter, October 2021, here.
In the dark
there is a gift
I might have missed
in the bright of day.
It is the slowing of time,
the sense of air
soft filling each space,
touching my face,
of self with no mask
or pretence,
no agenda,
no inner or outer pressure,
just silence so loud
I can hear it.
It is so empty, it is full.
I can feel all that is there,
all that is always there,
although I am not.
I can honour it
by doing nothing.
Jane Upchurch, unpublished.
See CANA newsletter, October 2021, here.
Perfect Joy
Here is how I sum it up:
Heaven does nothing: its non-doing is its serenity.
Earth does nothing: its non-doing is its rest.
From the union of these two non-doings
All actions proceed,
All things are made.
How vast, how invisible
This coming-to-be!
All things come from nowhere!
How vast, how invisible
No way to explain it!
All beings in their perfection
Are born of non-doing.
Hence it is said:
"Heaven and earth do nothing
Yet there is nothing they do not do."
Where is the person who can attain
To this non-doing?
Chuang Tzu, translated by Thomas Merton.
In Roger Housden, Risking Everything: 110 Poems of Love and Revelation (Harmony Books, 2003), 146.
Here is how I sum it up:
Heaven does nothing: its non-doing is its serenity.
Earth does nothing: its non-doing is its rest.
From the union of these two non-doings
All actions proceed,
All things are made.
How vast, how invisible
This coming-to-be!
All things come from nowhere!
How vast, how invisible
No way to explain it!
All beings in their perfection
Are born of non-doing.
Hence it is said:
"Heaven and earth do nothing
Yet there is nothing they do not do."
Where is the person who can attain
To this non-doing?
Chuang Tzu, translated by Thomas Merton.
In Roger Housden, Risking Everything: 110 Poems of Love and Revelation (Harmony Books, 2003), 146.
Dark
Malling Abbey Church
Here in the dark
do not speak.
Only
listen, hold your peace
and wait for the wordless gift:
the lifting of the lark's voice,
choice and sweet,
repeating its high note of love,
speaking your name,
calling you over and over
again.
Do not speak.
Let the visiting bird,
silence, do her work:
sift your heart,
heal what is broken,
sundered apart,
restore what is plundered,
repair the rift,
knit to one piece the unravelled mind,
scattered and split.
Wait for the gift,
the lifting of the warm,
beating wings,
the sudden shudder
under the brooding breast.
You must enter
here in the dark
where the heart sings.
Do not speak.
In Nicola Slee, Praying Like a Woman,
(London: SPCK, 2004), p43.
Malling Abbey Church
Here in the dark
do not speak.
Only
listen, hold your peace
and wait for the wordless gift:
the lifting of the lark's voice,
choice and sweet,
repeating its high note of love,
speaking your name,
calling you over and over
again.
Do not speak.
Let the visiting bird,
silence, do her work:
sift your heart,
heal what is broken,
sundered apart,
restore what is plundered,
repair the rift,
knit to one piece the unravelled mind,
scattered and split.
Wait for the gift,
the lifting of the warm,
beating wings,
the sudden shudder
under the brooding breast.
You must enter
here in the dark
where the heart sings.
Do not speak.
In Nicola Slee, Praying Like a Woman,
(London: SPCK, 2004), p43.
It is enough to listen to the silence
It is enough
to listen to the silence.
Silence comes o fetch us
where we have just been
with our thoughts and feelings.
It is enough
to listen to the silence.
Silence brings us
to where we are now,
right here,
into this room,
to this place,
this morning.
It is enough
to listen to the silence.
Silence embraces
what wants to become.
Whatever this day brings us,
is held,
and always has been,
in this silence
now.
It is enough
to listen to the silence.
In Silvia Ostertag, Living Silence: Tuning in and Practicing (Beauchamp: Matador, 2013), 2.
It is enough
to listen to the silence.
Silence comes o fetch us
where we have just been
with our thoughts and feelings.
It is enough
to listen to the silence.
Silence brings us
to where we are now,
right here,
into this room,
to this place,
this morning.
It is enough
to listen to the silence.
Silence embraces
what wants to become.
Whatever this day brings us,
is held,
and always has been,
in this silence
now.
It is enough
to listen to the silence.
In Silvia Ostertag, Living Silence: Tuning in and Practicing (Beauchamp: Matador, 2013), 2.
The Womb of Silence
Not in the whirlwind,
not in the lightning,
not in the strife of tongues,
or in the jangling of subtle reasoning
is God to be found,
but in the still small voice
speaking in the womb of silence.
Therefore be silent.
Let the past be silent.
Let there be no vain regrets,
no brooding on past failures,
no bitterness,
no judgement of oneself
or of others.
Let all be silent.
Be still and know.
Be still and look.
Let the eyes of the mind be closed
that you may hear
what otherwise you would not hear,
that you may know
what otherwise you would not know.
Abandon yourself to God
in longing love, simply,
holding on to nothing but God.
So you may enter the silence of eternity
and know the union of yourself with God.
And if in the silence God does not answer,
God is still there.
God’s silence is the silence of love.
Wait then in patience
and in submission.
It is good to wait in silence
for God’s coming.
An unknown author, quoted in Benignus O’Rourke, Finding Your Hidden Treasure:
The Way of Silent Prayer (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2010), 58-59.
Not in the whirlwind,
not in the lightning,
not in the strife of tongues,
or in the jangling of subtle reasoning
is God to be found,
but in the still small voice
speaking in the womb of silence.
Therefore be silent.
Let the past be silent.
Let there be no vain regrets,
no brooding on past failures,
no bitterness,
no judgement of oneself
or of others.
Let all be silent.
Be still and know.
Be still and look.
Let the eyes of the mind be closed
that you may hear
what otherwise you would not hear,
that you may know
what otherwise you would not know.
Abandon yourself to God
in longing love, simply,
holding on to nothing but God.
So you may enter the silence of eternity
and know the union of yourself with God.
And if in the silence God does not answer,
God is still there.
God’s silence is the silence of love.
Wait then in patience
and in submission.
It is good to wait in silence
for God’s coming.
An unknown author, quoted in Benignus O’Rourke, Finding Your Hidden Treasure:
The Way of Silent Prayer (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2010), 58-59.
Slowly
She celebrated the sacrament of
Letting Go…
First she surrendered her Green
Then the Orange, yellow, and Red…
Finally she let go of her Brown…
Shedding her last leaf
She stood empty and silent, stripped bare
Leaning against the sky she began her vigil of trust…
Shedding her last leaf
She watched its journey to the ground…
She stood in silence,
Wearing the color of emptiness
Her branches wondering:
How do you give shade, with so much gone?
And then, the sacrament of waiting began
The sunrise and sunset watched with
Tenderness, clothing her with silhouettes
They kept her hope alive.
They helped her understand that
her vulnerability
her dependence and need
her emptiness
her readiness to receive
were giving her a new kind of beauty.
Every morning and every evening she stood in silence and celebrated
the sacrament of waiting.
Macrina Wiederkehr (published source currently unknown but will be credited once identified).
She celebrated the sacrament of
Letting Go…
First she surrendered her Green
Then the Orange, yellow, and Red…
Finally she let go of her Brown…
Shedding her last leaf
She stood empty and silent, stripped bare
Leaning against the sky she began her vigil of trust…
Shedding her last leaf
She watched its journey to the ground…
She stood in silence,
Wearing the color of emptiness
Her branches wondering:
How do you give shade, with so much gone?
And then, the sacrament of waiting began
The sunrise and sunset watched with
Tenderness, clothing her with silhouettes
They kept her hope alive.
They helped her understand that
her vulnerability
her dependence and need
her emptiness
her readiness to receive
were giving her a new kind of beauty.
Every morning and every evening she stood in silence and celebrated
the sacrament of waiting.
Macrina Wiederkehr (published source currently unknown but will be credited once identified).
Psalm 23 Redux
This I know:
My life is in your hands.
I have nothing to fear.
I stop,
breathe,
listen.
Beneath the whirl of what is
is a deep down quiet place.
You beckon me to tarry there.
This is the place
where unnamed hungers
are fed, the place
of clear water,
refreshment.
My senses stilled,
I drink deeply,
at home in timeless territory.
In peril, I remember:
Death's dark vale holds no menace.
I lean into You;
Your eternal presence comforts me.
I am held tenderly.
In the midst of all that troubles,
that threatens and diminishes,
You set abundance before me.
You lift my head; my vision clears.
The blessing cup overflows.
This I know:
You are my home and my hope,
my strength and my solace,
and so shall You ever be.
In Carla A. Grosch-Miller, Psalms Redux: Poems and Prayers,
(London: Canterbury Press, 2014), p13.
This I know:
My life is in your hands.
I have nothing to fear.
I stop,
breathe,
listen.
Beneath the whirl of what is
is a deep down quiet place.
You beckon me to tarry there.
This is the place
where unnamed hungers
are fed, the place
of clear water,
refreshment.
My senses stilled,
I drink deeply,
at home in timeless territory.
In peril, I remember:
Death's dark vale holds no menace.
I lean into You;
Your eternal presence comforts me.
I am held tenderly.
In the midst of all that troubles,
that threatens and diminishes,
You set abundance before me.
You lift my head; my vision clears.
The blessing cup overflows.
This I know:
You are my home and my hope,
my strength and my solace,
and so shall You ever be.
In Carla A. Grosch-Miller, Psalms Redux: Poems and Prayers,
(London: Canterbury Press, 2014), p13.
From Thoughts in Solitude
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that, if I do this, You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone.
In Thomas Merton, Dialogues with Silence: Prayers and Drawings, (London: SPCK, 2002), pvii.
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that, if I do this, You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone.
In Thomas Merton, Dialogues with Silence: Prayers and Drawings, (London: SPCK, 2002), pvii.
Clearing
Do not try to serve
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is yours alone to sing
falls into your open cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to the world
so worthy of rescue.
Martha Postlethwaite (published source currently unknown but will be credited once identified).
Do not try to serve
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is yours alone to sing
falls into your open cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to the world
so worthy of rescue.
Martha Postlethwaite (published source currently unknown but will be credited once identified).
How to pray
[best viewed not on a phone to keep poem's alignment]
an empty room
asks to be sat in
for a long time
at different hours of the day and night
in many weathers
alone without words
perhaps hold an object in your hands
a stone
a cup
a length of beads
for a long time
or place something well chosen
on the floor or a window ledge
where you will look at it
for a long time
a cup a vase a stone
a piece of wood
without asking or telling anything
imposing your own shape on the emptiness
as lightly as possible
leave and enter
many times
without disturbing its silences
gradually over many years
a room thus entered and departed
will teach you how to furnish and dispose of
the paraphernalia of a life
Nicola Slee, in Gavin D'Costa, Eleanor Nesbitt, Mark Pryce, Ruth Shelton and Nicola Slee,
Making Nothing Happen: Five Poets Explore Faith and Spirituality, (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014), p32.
[best viewed not on a phone to keep poem's alignment]
an empty room
asks to be sat in
for a long time
at different hours of the day and night
in many weathers
alone without words
perhaps hold an object in your hands
a stone
a cup
a length of beads
for a long time
or place something well chosen
on the floor or a window ledge
where you will look at it
for a long time
a cup a vase a stone
a piece of wood
without asking or telling anything
imposing your own shape on the emptiness
as lightly as possible
leave and enter
many times
without disturbing its silences
gradually over many years
a room thus entered and departed
will teach you how to furnish and dispose of
the paraphernalia of a life
Nicola Slee, in Gavin D'Costa, Eleanor Nesbitt, Mark Pryce, Ruth Shelton and Nicola Slee,
Making Nothing Happen: Five Poets Explore Faith and Spirituality, (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014), p32.
Psalm 131 Redux
[best viewed not on phone to keep poem's alignment]
O Lord, my heart is open
and my mind is freed
from the struggle to make sense
even of who, of how, You are.
(I breathe.)
I come to the broad plain,
the fullness of silence,
to You.
Peace envelops me.
I sink into You.
I want for nothing.
(This is the still point
of the turning world.)
I rest in You.
(This is the beginning.
I am.)
In Carla A. Grosch-Miller, Psalms Redux: Poems and Prayers, (London: Canterbury Press, 2014), p82.
[best viewed not on phone to keep poem's alignment]
O Lord, my heart is open
and my mind is freed
from the struggle to make sense
even of who, of how, You are.
(I breathe.)
I come to the broad plain,
the fullness of silence,
to You.
Peace envelops me.
I sink into You.
I want for nothing.
(This is the still point
of the turning world.)
I rest in You.
(This is the beginning.
I am.)
In Carla A. Grosch-Miller, Psalms Redux: Poems and Prayers, (London: Canterbury Press, 2014), p82.
Folk Tale
[best viewed not on phone to keep poem's alignment]
Prayers like gravel
flung at the sky's
window, hoping to attract
the loved one's
attention. But without
visible plaits to let
down for the believer
to climb up,
to what purpose open
that far casement?
I would
have refrained long since
but that peering once
through my locked fingers
I thought that I detected
the movement of a curtain.
In R. S. Thomas, Selected Poems,
(London: Penguin, 2003), p186.
[best viewed not on phone to keep poem's alignment]
Prayers like gravel
flung at the sky's
window, hoping to attract
the loved one's
attention. But without
visible plaits to let
down for the believer
to climb up,
to what purpose open
that far casement?
I would
have refrained long since
but that peering once
through my locked fingers
I thought that I detected
the movement of a curtain.
In R. S. Thomas, Selected Poems,
(London: Penguin, 2003), p186.
Let Your God Love You
Be silent.
Be still.
Alone,
Empty
Before your God.
Say nothing.
Ask nothing.
Be silent.
Be still.
Let your God
Look upon you.
That is all.
God knows.
And understands.
God loves you with
An enormous love,
Wanting only to
Look upon you
With love
Quiet.
Still.
Be.
Let your God
Love you.
In Edwina Gateley, There Was No Path So I Trod One (Wheathampstead: Anthony Clarke, 1996).
Be silent.
Be still.
Alone,
Empty
Before your God.
Say nothing.
Ask nothing.
Be silent.
Be still.
Let your God
Look upon you.
That is all.
God knows.
And understands.
God loves you with
An enormous love,
Wanting only to
Look upon you
With love
Quiet.
Still.
Be.
Let your God
Love you.
In Edwina Gateley, There Was No Path So I Trod One (Wheathampstead: Anthony Clarke, 1996).
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