Shattered Silence

Silence Sometimes, the prayer is silence. It speaks to us in the shadows of the night with glimmering intuitions. It corners us into the rooms of our deepest and darkest fears, leaving us to confront them until the break of day. Yet something about this connotation scares us. It eats us alive.   It makes us uncomfortable.   It creeps up our skin until the fabrics crawl. But then the day breaks, the baby cries, the birds chirp, and the silence is broken. The time of stillness that was in the air is gone.   It is quickly replaced by the hustling, bustling, and quickness of life. And before we know it, we question what is happening.   We don’t understand how life in itself can be so cruel.   How the world outside of our windows is so chaotic and harsh.   So in this moment, we begin to miss the silence. The words unspoken, and the voices unheard.   The notes before they are sang, and the words before they are said. Yet it is too late.   For the prayer was