Silence is within?

I had to have an MRI last night.

I had been told all sorts of scary stories about how claustrophobic and how noisy the machine is and how hard it is to lie completely still for forty minutes or so. Consequently I was a little anxious.

So it began.

And it was everything I had been told. Small space, loud noise, held still.

Reaching for some way to be that wasn't frightened or panicky I sought comfort in the familiarity of the Rosary. Began the prayers without the beads, using my fingers pressed against the vibrating machine to measure the count. After a while I forgot about the noise and my breathing slowed to an even calm and part of me marvelled that, in the short space of time I have been praying the rosary, it has become so easy to slip into its cadence and rhythm.

So it strikes me what I am sure so many know .... that silence comes from with in and ...... that noise needn't be a disruption of that silence.

Evening

Its no secret that I am a morning kind of person and that by evening time am not at my best. I usually just want to get done what needs to be done and go to bed.

So usually I don't "see" the evening.

Today I took the Dancing Dalmation and "Old Man" retriever for a walk. Valentine is still supposed to be quiet. I say walk but really it was a stroll, threading my rosary through my fingers. Being a convert to Catholicism there are all sorts of traditions of which I am ignorant and this Easter Season I set out to pray the rosary with the help of Mitch Findlay's excellent book. When I began it was awkward and took all my concentration to repeat the prayers. Yet in a surprisingly short time it has become comfortable, easy, soothing and oddly challenging prayer.

This evening I strolled, murmuring my prayers, and found myself aware of the evening.

Aware of the pearl coloured sky, still and peaceful. A few clouds glowing briefly pink and salmon and finally cerise before fading into the coming night. Aware of the last birdsong. Aware of the cooling air, and the tang of water hanging in the faded heat of the afternoon.

A rare occasion when I was present to the evening.

And it was beautiful.

Wonderful, as if the Evening itself took up my own poor prayer.