In Silence Is All Potentiality
                                                                          May  


   We perceive the silent center of the vortex in our own gardens, just as Orpheus did as he was

playing his harp to all the animals and plants of the  forest. The silences occur between the beats--

between the beats of music, between the beats of our hearts, between whatever is happening

in our own lives. All that we need to do , as Franz Kafka said,  is to wait in silence, to be still, and all

will come into us.

In the garden there are sacred, silent moments, like moments in a whirling vortex of being.

In my garden, and yours, the silences come and bring with them the buzz of bees and other insects,

the cricket's song between the pausings, the special spaces among the bird songs,  the waitings for the

the woodpecker to resume its staccato hammering; these are the sacred interstitial centers of all life,

and Orpheus heard and knew them all.




I think of the heart in its gracious, consistent beating. It does this all our lives, yet it has its silent

moments between the systolic and diastolic muscular actions (between the pulses), and in between

these two actions where are the silences?  They are there, between the systole and the diastole,

between the contracting and expansion of our heart. These silences are actually little deaths.

I often wonder if mystics can hear the sounds and the silences of growing seeds. I think that Orpheus

heard them ,and this is why the animals and plants listened in awe to his music.

                                           
                                                   SILENCES

                                            The bees whisper

                                             their musical humming

                                             through noon's sun washed

                                             susurration of soothing sound and light--

                                             eternal Orpheus moments--

                                             between their beating wings.

                                             These are the stillnesses--

                                             the silent pauses

                                              that wait and hide

                                              among the wings,

                                              like frightful voids separating

                                               the systolic and diastolic

                                               pausings of the heart,

                                               creating a necklace

                                               of golden threaded beads--

                                               intermittent moments

                                               of life and--

                                               little deaths


                                           
                                             
                                                                                                      Frank La Rosa Mazza
                                                                                                      May 2020