Ghosts of Silence

I am surrounded by a towering stand of old growth conifers that seems to absorb every sound. Not a breath of wind stirs the air. Even the the birds and insects have disappeared. The silence is deafening. Stillness penetrates my bones and my thoughts scream for support. But there is nothing but spaciousness punctuated by immense ghostly apparitions draped in feathery lichen.

The silence invites surrender but I notice resistance. It is like I am balancing on the edge of a precipice—afraid of disappearing into the abyss. In a moment of madness something breaks free and I fall into openness. Amidst the freefall I remember a favorite poem:

The silence roared
I stumbled back
I heard my varnished ego

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