And moments of calm in our teaching. Openings out. Widenings. Our words, reaching the Open. Our words, sun-touched. Sun-dazzled. Light breaking across them.
We said the words and the light came. The light dazzled. The light sparkled. The breath of God came over the waters – and our words were the waters.
Words of truth, singing through us. Echoing through us. Like Sprachgesang to invisible music.
We spoke We were spoken. A kind of ventriloquy. A thrown voice, not our own. But whose voice was it?
And Cicero listening. And Cicero marvelling. As the stillness spread around us. As we reached an open grove of speech. As we reached the blessed moment. A utopia in speech.
Work in Progress 