It was Christmas Eve and you came to me. It was a cold and clear night, stars at the sky and a full moon. In silence we packed everything: sleeping bag, hot tea, candles, some food, a rug and a torch. We put on our boots, hat, mittens and a shawl.
We got into the car and went our way. It was dark, although the moon was there and it was silent. Most people were inside. The trees along the little roads guided us as true keepers. The little roads winded through the countryside. When the tar ended, we parked the car on the sandy path, got our stuff and started walking.
The torch lit the path in front of us as we walked our way in the deepest silence, accompanied by the stars and the moon. We were heading towards the place I knew so well. The place that had comforted me, encouraged me, supported me and embraced me. The place that gave me joy, gratitude and stillness.
There, we put down the rug, wrapped the sleeping bag around us and sat down. The vast stillness touched us. The ground and the sky were one in darkness.
In silence we sat, drinking the still darkness, sunk into the depths within. The first waves came. A ripple, then a wave and then a tidal wave. Streams of tears, sounds, movement came and went away.
Feeling took the place of wanting. Surrender took the place of fear. Gratitude took the place of uncertainty. Abundance poured out of each pore. The heathland received all tears, all emotions. The ground on which we sat, flooded fear with gratitude and uncertainty with surrender.
You and me sat silently with tears on our cheeks. The shooting stars didn’t make a single noise. The first clouds started to hide the moon. Darkness surrounded us more and more. We looked at each-other. Our tears glittered in the candle light. We drank our hot tea.
The waves disappeared together with the light of the stars and the moon. What was left was stillness that came to shore, here, in this heat-land.
We rose, folded the rug, packed the basket and rolled the sleeping bag. In silence we walked back to where we came from. The wind blew in our face now and the first snowflakes stayed on our coats.
Then nature started to whisper: “You didn’t come to me; I came to Me”, the branches swept in our face. “You didn’t come to me; you came to You”, the grass hummed. “You didn’t come to me; I was always here “, the heat-land rustled. Never were these sentences so familiar as they were now on this Christmas Eve. Tears filled my eyes: tears of recognition; tears of stillness; tears of gratitude. And you, you were there: inseparably connected and not connected. You went with me, all days and nights. You walk with me: all nights and days. There is no difference between you and me. There is no you and me. There only is …
ik schrijf mijn gedichten tegenwoordig in het Engels, zo ook gister en de titel gaf ik “Tears of Stillness” en dan zoek ik met google of die combinatie er al is, en zo vind ik jou site, en na een heleboel van je Engelse gedichten te lezen weet ik (voordat ik het opgezocht had) dat je moederstaal Nederlands is. Het Engels is mooi! Jou woorden zijn mooi!