Ruah Bull - Spiritual Director

 I didn't read the news. I raked a rainbow of pungent autumn leaves, played abroad with happy dogs, held my granddaughter in my arms, and sat beneath an amiable maple, attentive to current events.

 Again I resume the long lesson: how small a thing can be pleasing, how little in this hard world it takes to satisfy the mind and bring it to rest.

 All tempest has, like a naval, a hole in its middle though which a gull can fly in silence.

 It is our quiet time. We do not speak, because the voices are within us. It is our quiet time. We do not walk, because the earth is all within us. It is our quiet time. We do not dance, because the music has lifted us to a place Where the Spirit is, It is our quiet time. We rest with all of nature. We wake when the Seven Sisters wake We greet them in the sky over the opening of the Kiva.

 This is a poem for someone who is juggling her life, Be still sometimes Be still sometimes It needs repeating over and over to catch her attention over and over, as someone who is juggling her life finds it difficult to hear Be still sometimes Be still sometimes Let it fall sometimes .