Syria

Again,

I wonder, watch and weep,

uncomprehending.

Within the rhythm of prayer, I notice

the dissonant voices of shared arrogance,

humility trampled like a broken stem,

questioning, what place silence?

Without, that which will not be silent or still,

postures, debates and threatens,

straining against the bit of dissent.

Whilst against the self-made wall

of silent disinterest

the sound of suffering

echoes and rebounds,

sorrow magnified.

And yet, it seems to me that

silence born of Love, listens,

makes space within itself

for what is heard;

all of it.

Broken open to the other,

wounded, such silence,

through grace, 

becomes a healing presence;

suffering transfigured in ways

that are beyond

knowing and seeing.

Held within this threshold place,

I trust in this other way of being …

Tessa Holland

2^nd September 2013