Stillness of the Voice



Oh, how my heart yearns
to hear the stillness of the Voice
that speaks to my inner soul.
My longing seems unanswered.
He comes and the absence is
full of completeness. I Am
beckons to my cries of anguish
and comforts my coldness.
The warmth of the Light is
the food for my travels. I
wander yet am led.
I Am, he is the life of my soul.

January 10, 1988
Michael Winn

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Years Ago

Image
Years ago, beyond my memory, my father stood with his arms outstretched. With his words of encouragement, I reached for him, and, with exhilaration in eyes and breath, I took my first steps — from infancy to childhood. Years ago, faded in my memory, my father stood with his arms outstretched. With his words of encouragement, I looked to him, and, with exhilaration in eyes and breath, I caught my first fish by myself — from childhood to adolescence. Years ago, recent in my memory, my father stood with his arms outstretched. With his words of encouragement, I embraced him, and, with exhilaration in eyes and breath, I departed on my own journey — from adolescence to adulthood. Years ago, still fresh in my memory, my father stood with his arms outstretched. With his words of encouragement, I imitated him, and, with exhilaration in eyes and breath, I trusted and submitted to the One-Who-Is — from adulthood to sonship. Love… love… love, never counting the cost. Present now, no need for my me
Read more

Pericopes

Image
separated, cold, unhung sit the images shattered floating, drifting with effort, with cause each seeking to be the Whole in its own right. my Author weeps with salty, solicitous streams of His inner Self. Reconciliation of the mass, of that once bountiful state of creation, seems inconceivable; yet, the pericopes of the Masterswork pursue their identity, missing the moment of that which is yearned and feared in the same Breath. February 4, 1989 Michael Winn
Read more

The Lady of Combermere

Image
Under her outstretched arms do I stand, Nestled in her reach, I place my head, her touch, motherly and gentle. I begin to speak of some friends, in various places, bound and wounded. Other’s knotted hard knocks give way to my own bounded bindings. Everything gets told because she has the gift of easy listening. One simple word, Rejoice! and that she echoes from the store of treasures in her heart. July 1, 2018 Michael Winn
Read more