To My Mother, Upon Losing Her Voice

Someone once said that silence is God’s native tongue,

so it’s just as well you have always been so good at learning languages.

But there’s no guide in this new world, is there?

No grammar to consult, no friendly neighbor with whom to practice.

Only deeper forays into the incomprehensible land,

exploring. No map to remember, no scaffolding or compass,

only surrender.

.

In that thrumming space, may you roam ever nearer

the deepest quiet that hears your echo,

matches your breathing breath for breath.

Look for the lightest of notes sketched in the margins,

arrows etched in the stone, signs of life from those who’ve gone before.

Take heart and move into the presence whose edges are yours.

.

Don’t pause,

follow the call that draws you out into the unplumbed fathoms.

Listen to the silence as it listens to you.

And as you go, I dare to ask,

let your fingers smudge the notes of the wordless hymn as you pass.

.

Then,

perhaps when I follow,

I will sense a way though,

and in the void, learn to sing too.