How do you capture the stillness that is God? One step onto the gravel path reverberates like the clashing of cymbals. It is a cacophony of sound against the deep, dark nothingness that surrounds me. It is nothing and it is everything. I can feel God in the air that is neither wet nor humid nor dry. It does not feel heavy and yet I am immensely aware of the air. Not a breath of wind moves through it. Perfect absolute stillness. It is God.
I tiptoe through the wet grass not wanting to break this mood. It is reverent. Holy. The pool of light from my lamp leads the way. It is absorbed into the night leaving me inside a bubble of gentle illumination. It is perfect soft light. It is holy and for a moment so am I. But I am not alone. My light has disturbed a resting goose who startles and makes it known that he is not pleased by my presence. His honks and wings in flight carry through the stillness and across the water that continues to sleep. My heart races for a moment. The goose’s call quieting long before the thump thump thump of my pounding heart.
And then it returns. The stillness. The calm. God. I tiptoe across the wet grass. My own presence disturbing me. How odd it is. I want to be absorbed into the air; the moisture; the dewy grass. I am one with the night. It is a gift. It is perfect. It is God.