My watching and waiting and praying continue, not without yearning for stillness, often elusive as butterflies nipping on October’s goldenrod by rocky coastlines at Gloucester. I know in my depths when gifted by this surcease: it feels like ribboned streams ballooning vibrancy within every pore, such that colors glint, textures intrigue, harmonies thrill, sweetness grins, and aromas titillate.

Indeed, something like the wordless swirl of Creator-Love enlivens my core, primes my attention, and inundates me within silence’s song.

But within my psyche also lies discordant voices that seduce, insinuate, cajole, that clamor¾activated by subtle or monstrous fears that rip asunder my islands of stillness. In their wake floods the illusion of being trapped in sticky shades, sort of stuck upon myself like flypaper, helpless. But it is only an illusion, and just that. It does pass.

Another Power, when humbly accessed, releases such madness and restores the longed-for intimacy, heaven’s foretaste, even now that inspires my arduous path toward the next life.