I was going to title this eschaton or the last state of man, but I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression as I see and feel the counterpart as the life after, the dream state, the when and where everything clicks. Just as we are born from the singularity and return to it once we vacate our organic and intricate structure, so are words born of silence and return to silence.

Just as we create and oscillate with our imaginations, a single word initiates the preliminary pulse, bursting through the silence. It’s why things feels weighty these days and all the more critical to connect with the space of silence and of peace in which life is gifted to us lest fear and anger breach our amity.

I started something new recently. Before writing or doing anything, I take a moment of silence, of meditation, of absolute stillness. I listen for the words, for the deeds that lead me into being. It doesn’t have to be a lengthy pause, more like a reminder to breathe because circumstances have a way to knock our breaths off track these days that have eschatologist on edge.

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