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In the Silence of a Sunday...

In the silence of a Sunday I hear the ticking of the aging clock - time slowly passing, the clock itself deteriorating, the whole experience becoming a peaceful river carrying me to the end, and the beginning. In its gentle flow, I have no agenda and no desires. I come to rest in a sea of Divine Consciousness ignoring the cyclones and whirlpools perturbating the World of Man. Troubling questions seek to agitate me and I watch them pass, ships churning with false purposes. We only sense God when we are still. We only know who we are when we are quiet. The world would be so much better off resting periodically in long silences.
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